Shooting in the Dark
by InMyEyes2014
Summary: After 22 years of feeling like a lost girl, Emma Swan meets her parents who gave her up for adoption at birth. While she's not sure if she's ready to be a family with them, she is sure that her father's deputy, Killian Jones, does not fit into her life as a single mother. When her own life and livelihood are threatened, she is not sure if she can trust any of them.
1. Chapter 1

Curling her hands around the mug of hot cocoa, Emma Swan tapped her fingers on the porcelain and watched her former foster mother with nostalgia as the woman directed two of her charges through their bedtime routine. The two-story colonial just on the outskirts of Boston had been home to so many children over the years that Emma was quite certain there were ghosts milling about telling their unfortunate stories. She'd spent five years of her life as the foster child of the woman, forming bonds that were not so easy for her at the time. While her time there had not ended all that well, Ingrid Frysta remained a loyal confidant and supporter.

"Why is it that every child who lives here seems to think I have no idea what I'm doing?" Ingrid said, pushing a container of ground cinnamon toward Emma. "Don't get so high and mighty about it. You were the same way. I think you must have attempted to run away three times in that first week alone."

"Habit, I guess," Emma said, sprinkling the added blend over her drink. "When you shift from home to home you're not going to trust the lady you know is getting a paycheck for you being there." She sniffed in the aroma of the drink before taking a long sip. "I was wrong about you. And they'll figure that out too."

Ingrid smiled warmly and took her own sip. "So any more news on your parents? You know some people search forever before they find people who gave them up for adoption. You're pretty lucky to find them without even trying that hard."

Though she didn't reach for it, Emma let her green eyes shift in the direction of the file folder protruding from her bag. "I wasn't really looking for them. It all just sort of fell in my lap. That's all sort of weird, right? I mean there are all these people in the world and Henry's father who grew up in the same small town as my parents. That's a big coincidence."

Ingrid tilted her head, letting her ash blonde hair fall over one shoulder as she regarded her former charge's face carefully. "Yes, I suppose it is a coincidence. What else could it be? Like I said, you're lucky."

"Yeah," Emma said, lifting her mug in Ingrid's direction with a sardonic salute. "That's me, leading a charmed life. Foster homes, a baby at 17, jail time, single parenthood, no clue what I'm going to do with my life. Should I continue?"

Ingrid gave her own sort of mock salute with her mug. "I don't know. I see some good things in your life. You have an adorable son." She gave a quick glance and gesture toward the preschooler playing with plastic letters on the floor in front of the fireplace. "You have a great job that you're very good at even if you don't like to admit it. You've got people who love you, including me and my nieces. And apparently you now have two parents who are anxious to meet you and have you in their lives."

Emma made a face. "She had me when was a year younger than I was when Henry was born. Apparently, her step-mother made her give me up for adoption. That's pretty convenient too. It's like they don't want to take responsibility for my growing up like I did."

"I think you're making excuses," Ingrid chastised, leaning back in the dining chair to view the great room where some of the children in her care were supposed to be finishing homework before bed. The conversation they were having died down with a single look from the family matriarch who leaned back toward Emma. "They offered you an all-expense paid trip to coastal Maine. What's the harm? You go up there. You visit. You get to know them. They get to know you. If it doesn't work out, you can spend the rest of your life making excuses why you can't visit again. Besides I hear that part of Maine is lovely. Think of it like a vacation. No work, someone else cooking…sounds like paradise to me."

"She's really perky. Over the phone I mean. I told her about Henry and she giggled when I sent her a photo of him. She called him a cutie. What grown woman giggles?"

"You've been known to do it yourself, Emma."

Her head shook furiously. "No, I laugh. I don't giggle. And I certainly don't have cute little nicknames for people like she does my father. She calls him Prince Charming."

Giving a small shrug, Ingrid sighed. "I think it's pretty amazing that they are still together. Not many people can say that about their high school sweetheart. They seem pretty nice from those emails you showed me. Give them a chance. I know you are independent and not very trusting, but they seem nice."

"They have a son," Emma said, leaning in conspiratorially like it was some huge confession. "His name is Leopold after her father. And apparently he's younger than Henry."

"You have a brother," Ingrid said, clapping her hands together delightedly. The woman clearly had a soft spot for children. "That's wonderful. And at that age he's not likely to disappoint you or make you any less trusting."

Another face from Emma and she knocked her knuckles on the wood of the table. "And a dog. A collie mix named Wilby. Seriously? They have the perfect little family. What could they be missing? Why do they want me to go there and ruin it?"

"Maybe they're missing an Emma," Ingrid said, giving another look to the great room. "I know you don't believe me, but maybe they have had this hole in their lives since they had to place you for adoption. We've talked about it before, Emma. I don't think they ever considered how you would get lost in this system. They probably thought you'd grow up with a loving family, on a farm or something."

"A farm?" Emma asked incredulously. "Is that your idea of family perfection."

"No, I was reaching. They seem like farm people to me. You said they have a collie."

"So you're in favor of me going," Emma said, reaching over for one of the cookies that sat at the center of the table. "You know we usually do something together for my birthday. It's kind of a tradition."

"There's nothing wrong with starting new traditions, Emma. And you're just going for a week. We can go to dinner when you get back."

***AAA***

David Nolan carried the last of the bags of groceries into the loft apartment he shared with his wife and son, depositing them on the kitchen island with a triumphant grin. "You may have bought out the store, hun," he said, turning his attention to peeling away the canvas totes his wife insisted on using instead of paper or plastic. "You do realize that Emma might not even like this stuff."

His wife pursed her pink lips together in the beginnings of a frown, peering eagerly into the bag closest to her with their son on her hip. "I bought too much, but I don't know what she likes or Henry. Kids can be picky. Maybe we should have told her to stay at Granny's. She could order whatever they eat there. It's just…"

"I know, I know," he said soothingly. "You want her here under our roof. You want us all to be a real family for the first time." He cupped the back of their one year old's head, breathing in the talcum scent. "I want that too."

Shifting the boy's weight, Mary Margaret looked pensively back at him. "She might not like us. These phone calls and all…it's like she can't wait to hang up. I think she blames us."

"We knew this wasn't going to be easy," David reminded her. "She's had 22 years of us not being around. It's going to take some getting used to."

"I suppose," she said, placing their son in the play pen with a few of his favorite soft toys that wouldn't be damaged when he inevitably threw them out. "Her birthday is next week."

"She hasn't even mentioned that. I am kind of hoping she'll still be here. We could get a cake. Maybe we could…" Birthdays were a big deal to his wife, which he had always known. And while it might be awkward to tell her, the couple had always lit a candle on a small cake for their daughter every October.

"We don't want to overwhelm her. Remember. Small steps. Small steps." She made a show of breathing deeply and exhaling slowly. Her arms lifted and dropped in cadence with her breathing. "It's going to be great."

The two of them made quick work of the groceries, eventually finding homes for all the jars, cans, and items in the cabinet and filling the retro looking refrigerator with fresh produce and meats, as well as other items. David was placing some crackers on the highest shelf when he heard his wife sigh.

"Something wrong?" he asked, ever amused by her dramatic ways. "Did I put something away wrong?"

"I forgot to tell you that you that I sort of didn't listen to you about the whole Ariel thing," she said, her nose scrunching as she confessed. "I set her up on a date."

"With?" he asked. Ariel was a good friend of theirs, though a few years younger. She'd been in a relationship for years with a guy named Eric who worked for a company that supplied many of the restaurants up and down the east coast with seafood, especially clams, oysters, and lobster. While they seemed to get along well, they were forever breaking up and reuniting. That pattern had left David a bit hesitant to try to match her up with their more abundant list of single guy friends. Mary Margaret was determined though, wanting to see her friends all blissfully happy.

"Killian." She winced as she said it. "I know, I know. He's a confirmed bachelor and likes his women with a low IQ and beautiful body, but it could work. He's been saying he's getting a little tired of going home alone every night."

David groaned, pulling their son up into his arms. "Killian Jones is not in the market for a girlfriend. He's more of a one night stand kind of guy. She's going to end up back with Eric or hurt that he doesn't call her the next morning. Are you going to talk her down from the ledge?"

"I always do," she reminded him. "Besides maybe it will do them some good if Eric gets jealous."

"Fine, but don't distract Killian. He's my only deputy right now and I can't have him mooning over some girl. I need him to fill in some shifts so I can spend some time with Emma and our grandson."

***AAA***

The apartment was dark when Killian Jones arrived, throwing his jacket onto the rack beside the door and toeing off his boots before feeling for the light next to the small dining table. He and his brother Liam had lived there together for three years, finding that the quiet life of the coastal town was preferable to their more anonymous existence in the larger cities in New England. The two of them shared the 950 square feet of space within walking distance of both downtown and the docks, keeping odd hours at their jobs.

"Liam? Brother? Are you here?" The dim light beside the table was just enough for him as he padded into the living space and toward his bedroom. They had lucked out in finding a space big enough for the two of them to share and yet still provide privacy. The two bedrooms were nearly identical with private baths that meant any overnight company the two had did not risk being seen by the other.

"In my room," a similarly accented voice called out to him. He and Liam were still relatively new to life in the United States, having been raised in a small town outside of London by their mother after their father had abandoned the family. Four years older than Killian, Liam had half raised his younger brother. On the outside he was the one in charge, boisterous, opinionated, and completely organized. That didn't mean he was devoid of humor, as the photographs of him surrounded by friends indicated.

Killian leaned against the door frame and watched his brother complete another rep of sit ups. "You're not working tonight?"

"Slow night," he said, stretching for a towel. "I left it in Robin and Will's capable hands. Or maybe that wasn't such a good idea. They may kill each other."

"If they do, it'll mean job security for me." Killian chuckled. While his brother served drinks at one of the town's only pubs, he had found himself a more regimented career in law enforcement. The irony was not lost on either of them.

"I thought you had a date? Did you do something to screw it up, brother?" Liam lumbered to his feet, throwing his arms over his head in a haphazard sort of stretch. "Don't tell me you screwed it up? I was counting on you to get married and leave me with this flat. That way I don't have to move."

"Apologies," Killian said with a roll of his blue eyes. "I had no intentions of screwing it up, but the date was a bit doomed from the start. I didn't get so far as the restaurant and she had called me by her ex-boyfriend's name five times. I only bought her dinner to appease my boss's wife and sent her back to the lout. I think I should work on my excuses for next time."

"Remind me not to get mixed in with that lot. I do fine with the lasses who are still hung up on their exes without getting set up with more. Belle said she's reading a good book with a bottle of wine tonight. Yet when I offered to come over she claims to have a headache and wants to be alone. I daresay she's probably got that ex-husband of hers back in her life." After grabbing two matching bottles of beer, the two brothers made their way back into the living room with the steely gray couch and matching chair that made the space seem smaller. "I'd take a pass on her, but there's something about the lass that has me coming back for more."

"We're both unlucky in love, brother," Killian noted, heading for the kitchen and pulling out two beer bottles. "I foresee us both living here as bachelors for the rest of our lives."

"Oi! What did I do to deserve such a fate?" The elder brother's hair was curlier than the younger's darker tresses and stuck out wildly at the end of the day. "One of these days I intend to find the right woman and settle down."

"Might I suggest you stop looking at other men's wives and find a more suitable possibility."

"They are estranged," Liam groused between swigs of his beer. "Belle's having a hard time with it being truly over, but she'll get there. And if she doesn't, there are other lovely lasses out there."

"Aye, but you seem quite taken with one who isn't mentally or emotionally available." Killian didn't bother with reminding Liam that just last week he had found him complaining loudly that he couldn't wait for her forever. "Belle is lovely, but take it from a bloke who dated one of Mr. Gold's ex-wives. It never ends well. Even if she does leave him completely, you'll forever be looking over your shoulder thinking that bastard's going to come get you. I'm not sure the lass is worth all that."

***AAA***

Mary Margaret's arms were full as she hoisted her son on her hip and threw her tote bag of graded papers, new assignments, and a sandwich packed lunch over her shoulder. Thankfully her husband had carried the stroller and diaper bag down the steep stairs to her SUV, saving her the hassle of an extra trip.

"You're picking her up, right? Her flight gets in at 11:55. That's a.m. not p.m." The worried mother, looked up at her husband through her dark lashes. "Maybe I should have taken the day off."

"It's going to be fine," he assured her, kissing the top of her head. "I'm going to go in and do a little paperwork. Then I'll head to Bangor to pick her and Henry up. We'll be back in Storybrooke in time to meet you and Leo for an early dinner at Granny's and a quick tour of the town. Stop worrying."

Her teeth sank over the corner of her bottom lip. "Maybe you should take a sign. You know with her name on it. We've exchanged pictures, but maybe…"

"Stop worrying. I know we haven't met her yet in person, but I don't think she's a sign at the airport kind of girl. She was reluctant to even have us meet her there and kept saying something about a bus."

She nodded thoughtfully, turning to look at her larger vehicle. "Don't take the cruiser, okay? You could take my car and I'll drive the truck today."

Reaching around her, he opened the back passenger door and with a lifting motion tugged Leo out of her arms. "You're going to be late," he reminded her, kissing his son's cheek before settling him into the car seat. "The sooner we get this day started, the sooner she arrives. Do you think that Henry will call me grandpa?"

The air rushed out of her as she embraced him as soon as he stood up again. "We're going to meet our daughter," she said with a sigh. "And our grandson." Pulling away abruptly, she scampered around to the driver's side of the car with a quick wave before disappearing behind the wheel. He watched her drive off, shaking his head at her optimism.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he gave a cursory glance for traffic and jogged across the street and down a block to pick up some coffee before heading to the office. Killian was coming in early too, but the guy was horrible at making coffee that anyone else could stomach. It came off weak and more like tea.

Granny's, the only real place to get breakfast in town, was busy as usual. And David had to say hello to a few people before he could make his way to the counter to place his order. Even with the wait, he couldn't help the smile on his lips that the ever observant proprietress noticed before filling his order.

"She's coming today?" Matilda Lucas, better known as Granny, asked, looking over her glasses at him. "I know you and that wife of yours are excited."

"That she is," he answered happily, tapping his ungloved fingers against the counter. "Bringing my grandson with her."

Granny made the appropriate clucking as he shoved his phone in front of her and displayed the picture of the four-year-old that she had sent. "He's a smart one. You can tell. Look at those eyes. They know things." Not offering anything more than a promise he would bring the boy and mother in so she could properly meet them, she gave him the coffee he had ordered and a second cup for Killian.

"You're a good woman, Granny."

***AAA***

Emma's efforts to study the landscape from the fifth row of the bus were interrupted as her son shifted in the seat and kicked her unceremoniously in the side. Giving him a glance, she maneuvered his feet into her lap and rolled her head back against the seatback.

Henry was the perfect mix of her fair looks and Neal's more rugged hardness. His sandy brown hair had been darkening over recent years to more of chocolate brown of his father's, and his eyes were a similar shade. She could see herself in the slight slope of his nose and the thick lashes that framed his eyes perfectly. He had her temperament, remaining calm until he just couldn't take it any longer and then nearly exploding with emotion.

She peeked over at her phone resting on her denim clad thigh. It was nearly 10 a.m., a full hour before her original plane had been scheduled to arrive. Crazy as it was, she and Henry had both struggled to sleep the night before after returning home from Ingrid's place. On a whim she had bundled him up, stuffed their luggage into her little yellow Bug, and arrived at Logan airport before the sun even shone. Switching their tickets had been no big deal, only costing her about $30 per ticket when all was said and done. And despite her parents seeming misunderstanding about her finances, she could certainly afford that.

Rather than wait on her father to fetch her, she had hopped a bus that was supposed to drop her off in the center of town. However, as the bus lumbered south and east along the coast, she realized that her father was probably going to be leaving soon under the impression she and Henry still needed a ride. If it was one of her friends, she might have just texted him and earned an annoyed emoji in response, but she wasn't sure how he would take that. So she drew in her energy and courage to call him.

He answered on the fourth ring.

"Ummm, hi," she said followed by a pause since she wasn't sure if she should refer to him as David or Mr. Nolan or what. Dad seemed far too familiar and the others too formal. She gave up and chose to identify herself. "It's Emma."

While not as enthusiastically positive as her mother, David's reaction was still happy. "Emma, what are you doing calling? Are you allowed to do that on planes these days?"

"I don't really know," she said, breathing out heavily through her nose. "Yeah, so I was able to get an earlier flight. We landed about 90 minutes ago."

"Why didn't you call me? I'll leave right now to pick you up." She could hear through the connection the rattling of keys and the slam of what she assumed to be a drawer. In one of their conversations he had explained that he was the town's sheriff and had one full time deputy to assist him. She had instantly thought of the old black and white episodes of Andy Griffith that one of her foster parents seemed to love.

"No need," she said quickly, realizing he was about to hang up. "I caught a bus. It's supposed to drop me off at the corner of Juniper and Merry Men Court? In about half an hour."

"You took a bus? With your son? Alone?" That was either his overprotective dad speech coming through or his law enforcement persona. She ignored the implication.

"I live in Boston," she said by way of explanation. "It's sort of the norm to hop on a bus. Anyway, I didn't want you to make the drive since I'm almost there. See you soon?"

He was so silent that she immediately thought she might after lost the connection. But suddenly he answered. "Sure, I'll pick you up at the stop. It's a pretty big hike from there to the loft so we'll drive you over."

 _To be continued?_


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow! The response to the first chapter was great, so here is chapter 2. Thank you so much for that. Here are a couple of notes based on comments I got._

 _Mary Margaret and David's son being named Leo. I give a short explanation in this chapter. I usually go with that for their son, as my father in law is named Leopold (middle name) and my son has that middle name too. It is a sort of shout out thing for me. Plus I'm not a Neal fan so I never name him that unless I am writing in the SB Universe._ _Please forgive the typos. I am a full time working mother, wife, and graduate student. I also have the added responsibility of caring for my mother and father who have recently had some serious health issues diagnosed. I have worked with a beta in the past and find that I never get the story finished because I spend so much time revising. Since I write for my job and am editing a new book that should come out this year, I am not interested in spending more time on this than other responsibilities. This is just written by me for fun._ _David and Mary Margaret – They are a bit of a struggle in this story for me. The show has never really had them react very much to Emma's life prior to the curse breaking. So this is my interpretation of how these things (awkwardness, conversations, avoidance) would go down. I love the characters so this is fun to do, but there are no completely innocent people in my stories. Flawed people make the best characters in my opinion. My own experiences with adoption/foster care, etc., will certainly influence that._

Chapter 2

She wasn't sure what she expected, but David Nolan was not exactly as she imagined him. Tall was a given, as she had always imagined her father to be taller than her. He was younger than she used to think he would be, but there were signs he was approaching middle age gracefully. Propped against a tan colored truck, he was not dressed in a uniform but a faded pair of jeans and a flannel shirt that did not hang loosely. His work boots were a bit dirty, but not old or worn out. And unlike the cocky jerks she had worked with in law enforcement over the past couple of years, she could see a kindness in the lopsided way his mouth turned up in a smile and the faint lines around his eyes. This was most evident as she stepped off the bus with a duffel bag and a bag of Henry's toys and necessities over one shoulder and Henry still snoozing against the other.

"Hi," she said as he approached. He slowed to a stutter step, reaching around her for the suitcase that the driver was pulling out from the cargo hold and sort of half hugging her at the same time. She instinctively tightened her grip on Henry, lifting her shoulders defensively. "Yeah, so nice to meet you."

He pulled back to study her, his face not revealing what he was thinking. "Wow, you're here. You're actually here. Emma, I…"

She swallowed, feeling very much on display in the reunion despite the fact that nobody was out on the street or sidewalks. From her limited vantage point she could spot one traffic light and no traffic. Mayberry might be an accurate description after all. "Maybe we should do the reunion thing a little more…"

"Privately," he finished, tugging her bag closer to him. "Yeah, sure. My truck's right here. I'll put your bag in and we'll get going back to the loft." He pointed toward the faded paint of the tan and taupe truck that was obviously well loved.

"Loft?"

"We thought…Your mother and I thought you might like to stay with us. See Storybrooke's not that big. We have the upstairs all ready for you. A room for you and one for Henry there with our son." He paused and turned around on his heel to look at the preschooler. "That's Henry?"

She thought about giving him a snide answer as to who else she would possibly be carrying off a bus, but refrained. While her dry sense of humor came from someplace, she wasn't sure if it was nurture or nature. "Yeah."

"He's adorable," David said, his hand gripping the handle tighter. She appreciated that he didn't reach out to touch the child like she could see he wanted to do. "He's…"

"Getting heavy," Emma supplied, hoping that he would take the hint that she wanted to move on. "So this town doesn't have a hotel?"

"A bed and breakfast, but it's pretty full right now. We're about to have the Mining Days Festival. It's about the busiest the town gets in the fall. You'll be here for it. There are rides, games, so much good food, entertainment, you name it."

"Sounds like fun." She squinted toward the truck. "So the loft then?"

"It's small, but it's home. Your mother decorated it herself so I hope you like flowers and shabby chic. I think that's what she calls it." He grinned. "We're saving to get a house a little bit out of town in the country. That's our dream."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Emma said, lifting Henry into the center seat of the truck and following after as her father held the door. She wasn't exactly sure what else to say to him, as she wasn't sure what to think. Even through the ceaseless talking on the two-mile trek to the loft, she could sense he was nervous. When he asked for the third time if she wanted lunch, she gave up her reluctance to ask for anything and requested a grilled cheese for her and Henry.

"I can do that," he said with a sigh of relief to have an actual task to accomplish. "Let's get you settled and I'll whip one up for each of you. Or would you like two? I could add some bacon. I mean that's protein, right?" The truck rattled loudly to a stop in front of an industrial building that looked as though it had been added onto many times over the years.

"Just cheese is fine."

He nodded, hopping down and grabbing her suitcase again, this time darting around and relieving her of the duffel and tote too. Looking longingly at Henry, he hesitated and the ran again for the door to open it for her. Luckily for her he said nothing on the trip up the stairs and led her into the apartment with a sort of flourish to indicate this is the place he had been talking about. The nervousness was back.

"It's nice," she offered, noting the white chipped paint and exposed brick that were very much in vogue. Picture frames decorated very surface, but she couldn't make out any of the pictures displayed without showing too much interested. To her physical and emotional relief, Henry lifted his head groggily.

"Momma?"

"Hey, kid," she said warmly. "You have a good nap?"

One side of Henry's face was pink from having laid against her for so long and his hair stuck up in odd angles. Blinking, he looked around and squinted at the man across from them. She should have warned him, she thought, shifting his weight a little. She dated and worked with men, but she never brought them to the two-bedroom apartment. His lone experience with the male half of the population was Ingrid's nephew-in-law, Kris who was more childlike than intimidating. So it was no wonder he was staring at David like he was wondering if he was some sort of magical creature.

Normally Henry would have demanded to be set down, hating to be confined by a hug when there were places to explore. But he didn't, turning a concerned and curious face to her. She read the expression immediately.

"Henry, this is your grandfather," she said, not bothering to give the man a title. They hadn't discussed it but she was sure David wouldn't be his first choice of a name for a 4-year-old to call him. "We're going to stay here a few days."

"Hi there, Henry," David said, tears welling up in his blue eyes. "You sure are a big boy. You're 4?"

After a brief pause, the preschooler nodded his head, his hand slipping up to his mouth for comfort. Emma, who was not much for affection with anyone else, cradled him to her. "He's usually more talkative," she excused. "But he just woke up."

"Of course," David said, exhaling. "Leo's the same. I mean most of his talk is still babbling, but he really says a lot. Can't shut the kid up." His eyes studied her face again, perhaps looking for similarities between his two offspring.

"Yeah. Leo, huh? That's an interesting name. You don't really hear it much nowadays." She loosened her grip on Henry and prepared to place him on his feet, but he held on tighter. He was clearly not ready for this. She didn't blame him. This was a strange place and a strange man standing before them.

David's chuckle was one of the most honest reactions she had heard so far. "Yeah, your mother's father was named Leopold. She wanted to name the kid after him. I sort of held out for David Jr. But when we were at the hospital it was just a little overwhelming. Seeing our son there. The nurse asked his name and she threw Leopold David out there. I didn't have it in me to argue too much. I owed her one, I guess. I named you."

"You named me?" Emma asked incredulously, not expecting that tidbit. She had a baby blanket with her name stitched into the intricately knitted white, but it had never really occurred to her that her name had been thought out or considered. "I didn't think that…"

"Emma is after her great-grandmother, Emaline, and Ruth is after my mother. We weren't sure when the case worker picked you up if they would keep the name or not. But I guess you did keep it?"

She managed to smile back, trying not to wonder if he had similar emotions when she was born. Had he even been there. She knew that he had been a student at the time, as had her mother. Was he in algebra or chemistry as she made her way into the world. She didn't want to ask. "Yeah, I did. Thanks, it's…it's a nice name. So upstairs?"

Clearing his throat, he started forward. "Yeah, let's get you guys set up and started on those sandwiches. We're having dinner with Mary Margaret in a few hours so we'll have to save room for that."

"Sure," she said, managing to get Henry down and pointed in the direction of the stairs. He walked warily past David and trudged up two of the steep metal stairs before turning and looking at his mother. "He's slept all morning so he's probably not going down for a nap this afternoon. Is there a good park or something nearby I can take him to and run off some energy? That way you can get some work done."

"Yeah, there's a couple of spots. But I could go with you. Might give us a chance to talk." He looked so hopeful as he lifted her suitcase to go up the stairs that she felt horrible for suggesting otherwise. Still she wanted a moment, even if it was just a quick run around the park to avoid conversation topics like the one she just had with him.

"Momma, I'm hungry," Henry announced loudly, holding his hand out with tiny fingers flagging toward her. "Now momma?"

"In a minute, kiddo," she said, patting his back with a circular motion. "So I was just thinking that I know we have a lot to talk about, but maybe it might be better to wait for tonight. I mean I don't want us to have to repeat everything for…well, for her benefit." If he found it weird that she didn't call her mother by name or title, he didn't say anything.

"Makes sense. Why don't we do lunch and then I'll walk you to the park on the east side of town. It's just down from the docks where the boats are right now."

For the first time since looking at his grandfather with suspicion, Henry's eyes lit up excitedly. "Boats? Go see the boats?" He flashed a hug toothy grin at his grandfather. "I like boats. Big ones."

Emma laughed. "Well I guess I know what we're going to do. You said the magic word."

***AAA***

The pencil sat precariously on the edge of the desk as Killian eyed it with the eagle's watchful concentration. Even the phones, which normally rang constantly in the small station house, were holding their breath as his steady hand hovered above the yellow number 2. Breathing in sharply, he slammed his palm down and sent the writing device flying – straight for the waste basket that was sitting in a chair behind him.

"Great shot," said Tink, the blonde girl who answered the phones and generally kept both men on the straight and narrow. "Now do you think you can get that report done before George comes looking for it? Tomorrow's court day for Leroy and without your version of the events, he doesn't have a case."

"Since you asked so nicely," he said with that awkward wink he had. Digging his hand into the cascading file holder, he pulled out the blank report form that he used as a template and waved it triumphantly. "Don't even need my notes, love. I have a mind like a steel trap. Ole Leroy's going to fry for his little case of public drunkenness."

She rolled her eyes, the mass of curls on her head bobbing as she turned. "By the way it's the fight he had with that big guy who lives over by Robin. The public drunkenness was last week and got thrown out because someone forgot to do the report."

He clicked his tongue judgmentally against the roof of his mouth. "That's not like David at all. Mate must be distracted with his daughter coming into town and all."

"I think he's justified to be a little distracted," Tink said, turning her attention to her computer. "But don't go blaming him. You arrested Leroy in that fight. It's your responsibility, hot shot." At 20, Tink was hardly a veteran of the force and not likely to ever be a detective or someone in that line of work. It was just a part-time job for her that she declared easier than waiting tables.

"Oy, I thought you were on my side, love. I brought you a sandwich last week and everything." He stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout that won him no points with her. "To think you used to be such a quiet and shy little lass."

"David's got you there too. He and his wife had me over for dinner and dessert."

Letting out a low whistle, he spun in his chair to face her. "You're almost part of the family," he teased. "Watch out or they'll invite you for the holidays. It's their way, you know?" He wasn't lying. The Nolans were known for their hospitality and drawing in of all friends as family. Maybe it was their own lack of family with their parents gone and no siblings to speak off. Once they latched onto you, you were part of the family no matter what.

He went about typing out the report as best he could from memory of that night, occasionally trudging through old files on the man who had been arrested. Leroy was a frequent offender, but more of a nuisance than an actual criminal. He was grumpy and opinionated, but soft and sweet underneath. The man couldn't be all bad, as he had a good relationship with Mary Margaret in that protective uncle sort of way.

"Do you think we'll meet her?" Tink asked suddenly, not looking away from the screen. "David's daughter? I can't believe they have another kid. I think there's a story there."

"I don't know that we'll have a take your daughter to work day, but I would think it is a possibility. He hasn't said much of her other than her name is Emma. "I think the bloke's a bit nervous since he's never really met her. Big change for them."

"I bet she's pretty," Tink surmised, tapping on the keys with precision. "Mary Margaret's beautiful and David's a looker too. I bet Emma took after them."

Killian shrugged. He'd heard David on the phone with the lass earlier that morning, but he'd learned very little in that brief conversation. David had seemed nearly in a panicked state upon ending the call and had nearly toppled a chair on his way out of there. He had not seen David so edgy and nervous since Mary Margaret had given birth to their son. "The lass could have three heads and a nose the size Maine and I doubt my mate would care very much at all."

Tink's answer was cut off by the ringing of the phone. Reaching lazily for it, she answered it professionally and was silent for a moment or two before rolling her eyes. "I think you just missed him. He's out on patrol."

Killian cringed, knowing that it was another call for him, probably one of the women he had been out with recently. While he was certainly appreciative of friends setting him up on dates, none of the women seemed all that interesting or worthy of a second date. It was nothing against them, he said often. He simply did not see himself with any of them.

"Oh sure. He's got to be back sometime. I'll let him know you called." She made a face at him and pointed to door, their signal that whoever was on the phone was headed that way. "No, he doesn't always answer his cell. Especially when he's working a case or leaves it here…I know…" Pulling the key and his jacket off the pegs near the exit, he gave her a wave and disappeared down the back hallway toward the smallish parking lot. His lean frame slid easily into the car.

It was too early for his afternoon patrols and he wasn't in the mood to fight the crowds for some food at Granny's. So without much persuasion in his internal dialogue, he elected to head down to the docks. He could probably pick up a fish lunch at the little shop down there and have a few minutes alone before he really did have to do patrols. Despite Tink's excuses to the mystery woman on the phone, he was never without his phone and always in contact.

Giving a little nod to his friend William, he left the patrol car in the second spot and took a short stroll to his favorite bench. It had been a few years since he'd been in the Navy, but he'd still retained that soulful love for the sea. While some people had pictures of their children or pets at work, Killian's bulletin board next to his desk contained inspirational pictures of boats and ships he would like to own. Liam told him once that he did not have blood in his veins, but salt water.

"Good to see you, Jones," William said, falling in stride next to him. "It's been a good day on the water." William Smee spent most of his days on a small fishing boat that seemed to always have the best yield. Her captain was an intuitive sort of man with a fierce competitive streak and loyalty to his men.

"Be burning off that money later at the Rabbit Hole?" he asked, ignoring the strong stench of fish on the man. No matter what time of day or how dressed up he was, he always wore that stench like a cologne. Even his name was somewhat seafaring with his last name of Smee. He was teased endlessly about it to the point that he did not even react now.

"Don't you know it," the man agreed, tugging on his knitted red cap that he was never without. "I got my eye on a new one for a game of pool. You going to be there?"

"Aye, I'm on call so I can't drink, but I'll probably have a few hours to spend there."

A gruff voice of the boat's captain called William back to work, leaving Killian alone for a few minutes. Head cocked to the left and arms spread on the back of the bench, he breathed in the salty air and listened as a few of the gulls circled just a few feet out. In another week or two it would be too cold to sit out there, most of the boats already going into dry dock for the season. It would be a good time to talk to a few of those guys who might seem interested in selling their boats. A fixer upper wouldn't be so bad, something to occupy his time, hands, and mind during the downtimes. He wasn't sure what he would name her, but it would be fun to figure that out. He was just beginning to consider possibilities when he heard a young and excited voice approaching.

Cracking one eye in the direction of the sound, he saw a little boy about 4 years old barreling toward him. His little legs pumped mercilessly as he made his way out of his mother's reach and toward the end of the dock. Instinctively Killian reached out an arm and grabbed him around his waist before he could dive off into the water or worse.

"Whoa there, little lad. Just where are you going?"

Henry's legs kicked excitedly a little as he pointed toward the large ship at the end of the dock. Used for tours and historic reenactments, she was an accurate for the time brigantine with two large sails that were flapping in the light breeze. "Pirates!" he called out, looking first toward his mother who was jogging to join them and then Killian for confirmation.

"Oh my God," she said breathlessly as she reached them. "He's faster than he used to be. And don't get me started on his love for Jake and the Neverland Pirates. Thank you so much." She cupped her hand over her eyes to look toward the ship her son was pointing at and sighed, realizing the cause of his excitement.

Frustrated by his lack of confirmation, Henry wiggled in Killian's arms. "Where are the pirates?"

"They could be anywhere," Killian offered as explanation, leaning a bit closer to the child's ear to whisper conspiratorially. "Pirates are very sneaky fellows."

"Henry, we should let this man go back to his day. We'll keep our eyes out for pirates." Emma reached for her son who was determinedly clinging to Killian's softly worn leather jacket. "Henry?"

The boy's head tilted toward Killian as he stared at the ship in wonder. "Are there really pirates on it?"

"Aye, I'd say that was a good possibility. You never know when you might meet one. So you must be very careful, lad. And watch out for your beautiful mum here. They might take a liking to her and take you both aboard."

Emma laughed nervously, her hands reaching out for her son. "I think I can watch out for myself."

"Can't be too careful, love." Killian managed to hand off Henry to her, ignoring the best he could the softness of her gray sweater and sweet scent of her that bellied the hardness of her expression. "The boy's got a good eye for ships. She's the closest we have to a pirate worthy vessel here."

"Like I said, he watches a lot of Jake and the Neverland Pirates. I guess it just comes with the territory." She hiked him back up on her side so that he could not run away. "Thanks again."

"I'm a fan of story of Peter Pan myself," he chuckled, "always appreciated the rivalry between him and Captain Hook." Inwardly he cringed at being that desperate to talk to her that he would reveal such a thing. She didn't care about his fascination with the original tales of lost boys and a pirate who had an unrelenting vendetta.

Emma's smile looked forced and her posture stiff as she judged him. "He's only watched the cartoon version of that once. Henry's not big on full length stuff yet."

"The book is much better anyway." Killian reached out a hand to Emma. "So the lad's name is Henry. I don't think I caught yours yet, love."

She lifted an eyebrow much like the expression he was wearing, clearly challenging him. She didn't offer her hand in return and his own dropped to his side after he realized she wouldn't. "You didn't ask, nor did you offer yours."

"Killian Jones. And you would be?" His smile was warm and friendly, a little bit cheeky as he shifted his focus to Henry and then to Emma again.

"Emma." She eyed him carefully, clearly not giving anything more than the situation required. He truly feared that she might trip on some of the rope and rigging lying about if she stepped backwards again.

His eyes lit up in recognition and he gave a bit of a fist pump in the air. "You must be the part of the Nolan family. Bloody hell, David's mentioned his daughter Emma coming to our lovely little town here. I'm quite sorry it took me so long to realize that you are that daughter. I was under the impression you were younger. Picturing pigtails and school uniforms for some reason. I suppose because he kept referring to you as his little girl. You're a full-grown woman though." His teeth gleamed in the sun and the dimples on his cheeks deepened beneath artful scruff. He shoved out his hand even more forcefully to show he meant to shake hers.

She tried not to notice that though and huffed in response. "I'm Emma Swan," she said, throwing back her head a bit. "And this is my son Henry."

His smile faltered a moment as he cast a look down to her left hand, looking for a ring. "Married are you? I didn't think…"

"What? No, I'm not married. Why would you think that?" Her pink lips parted and her eyes narrowed to slits as she eyed him suspiciously. "Seriously? You've never seen a single mother before?"

"Sorry, love, I meant nothing by it. I just noticed that you didn't have the same last name as David. I should not have assumed." He felt clumsy with his words as she stared back at him incredulously. He might have offered another apology, but Henry chose that moment to see a bird overhead. Arching his back, Henry nearly toppled from his mother's firm grasp. Perhaps she did not realize it, but Killian did and threw himself in the way to catch the boy before he fell.

Arms extended, he had one around Henry's back to push him back in place and the other flew reflexively upward toward Emma's shoulder. She stared back at him in horror at the motion that seemed more like a hug than a reactionary move to again save her son. "Sorry, love. I shouldn't have…I just…"

"No," she said taking a definitive step backwards. "You shouldn't have. We have to go."

The expression on his face was contrite as she spun around and was out of earshot as he bid her good afternoon.

***AAA***

Emma had never been a hugger, the physical closeness something that set her on edge. While Henry was an affectionate child, she found herself bristling under the easy way her parents both embraced her and even their friends seemed all to ready to do so too. Walking back to the station, she had been greeted by a young woman with wild blonde hair. David only barely mentioned her name before the woman was launching herself at Emma and rocking her back and forth. Her mother's dearest friend, Ruby had been a force of nature in red and floral perfume that stung the nostrils. Emma fought back the urge to cough when the woman squeezed her so tightly that the breath flew out of her. Some man named Leroy, who was a short, stout thing with an angry grimace behind a peppery beard, had even hugged her. Though he'd seemed embarrassed and awkward afterward. And she didn't want to think about the weirdness that was the momentary embrace by Killian. Thankfully Henry had babbled all the way to the park and then back to the loft where she was supposed to meet her parents for dinner.

To her relief David had calmed somewhat, dishing up lasagna for the adults and buttered noodles for both children. It was Mary Margaret who could not hide her excitement at being in the same room as her daughter. She had been warned that Emma seemed to like her space, but she hovered about with questions and exciting observations.

"You have green eyes," she said only 90 seconds after Emma had settled Henry in with one of his favorite picture books. "I always wondered…Leo takes after David with blue eyes, but you've got my eyes. Doesn't she, David?"

Her father paused at the task of dropping chopped green salads onto the plates and looked. "She does. Has your smile too."

"Your smile. Certainly your smile." The petite brunette bent at the waist to peer at her grandson's wide set eyes. "His are brown," she said with momentary disappointment. "His father's are…"

"Brown," Emma confirmed, cringing. "We don't really talk about…"

"No, no, of course not," Mary Margaret said. "I didn't really know him when he was a kid. He's older than you are and I wasn't a teacher yet when he was in school…Now, Gideon, that's Neal's brother. He's still quite young. Maybe a year or two younger than you are, Emma. He was in my first class I taught. Really sweet kid." Emma nodded, as if she knew this person. Neal had never really introduced her to his family, as he had been trying to build a life away from them when they were together. But she didn't want to encourage the woman to continue either.

"The lasagna smells good," Emma said, looking hopelessly at the small table that David had set. "I'm a fan of anything Italian though."

"Just like me," Mary Margaret exclaimed, pointing to a picture on the wall of her with Ruby. The two women were posing with fresh from the oven pizzas that they had made at one of those do it yourself places. "Give me tomato, garlic, basil, and mozzarella any day!"

Emma nodded again, feeling like a marionette. "Nothing like a good pizza," she said a bit lamely. "So you're a teacher. That's cool. I don't know that I could put up with 30 kids all day every day."

That was the perfect jumping off point for her mother who clearly loved what she did. In the 10 minutes it took to get everyone situated and the wine poured for the adults, Emma had already heard about the school's dress code, curriculum, summer reading program, spring play production plans, and the thoughts her mother had about making foreign language education mandatory. While Emma wasn't sure she really cared about that topic at all, she was grateful for not having to drive through the mind field of conversations. What was she supposed to say to her mother's comments about her eye color? Thank you? Where did you get yours from? I hadn't noticed before. I always wished I had blue.

At least David's conversation about work was more interesting for her. He spoke of interesting case notes, chases, and even a suspect with precision like aim. She was able to respond in kind with a few war stories of her own that sent both of them laughing – albeit cautiously – and Mary Margaret smiling appreciatively at them. Even Henry seemed a bit more at ease now that he was fully awake and David knew better how to approach him.

Emma offered to wash the dishes, waving off comments of being their guest. It would be preferable to dip her hands into the harsh sudsy water than try to cram 22 years of conversation into one answer to a question from her mother. Mary Margaret took Leo for his bath time and David had Henry enthralled with a story about boats.

"I know this isn't what you want to hear given the situation, but David's really good with kids," Mary Margaret said with a freshly washed and pajamaed son in her arms. She bounced him twice before placing him in the portable crib where she could keep an eye on him until she or David carried it upstairs. "As excited as we both are to have you here, I think David's been even more excited about Henry. He's really enjoying the idea of being a grandfather."

Emma wiped absently at the counter with a towel and smiled politely. "The way to his heart is to talk about boats."

"Your father is a fan of old movies," Mary Margaret said, picking up a few of the already dried plates and putting them back in the cupboard. "Especially ones with car chases or detectives. Those are his favorites. I've always been a sucker for a good romantic comedy."

The pause in the conversation told Emma she was supposed to respond. It was supposed to be a give and take, offering something in return for that bit of insight. "Horror," she said, managing to make eye contact. Mary Margaret was right. They did have the same color eyes. "I like being scared or at least laughing at the parts that are supposed to scare me."

"You are braver than I am. I think the last horror movie I watched was last year around Halloween. Your father and his deputy, Killian, were watching some late night black and white thing. There was slime or ooze or something that was attacking the town. Killian complained that he couldn't drive back to his apartment drunk, but I think it was more a case of he didn't want to go out into the dark alone. He slept on the couch that night and made us all eggs and bacon in the morning."

"So that's how he knows him," Emma said, recognizing the name once her mother said it. "I was kind of wondering. He seemed sort of…well, I found him just hanging out. I thought he might be unemployed or one of those artist sorts of guys who just wait for inspiration to strike, bills and rent be damned."

Her mother sat herself at one of the bar stools. "Killian? Oh he's worked for your father for a few years now. From what your father says, he's a great deputy. He's got a bit of a tough exterior, but he's a really sweetheart of a guy if you can get past that." She propped her chin up with her hand. "I've been trying to set him up on a date. I think he's ready for a good relationship instead of whatever it is he's doing with one night stands and all."

Emma huffed out a nervous sort of laugh. "There's nothing wrong with not wanting strings." She wiped her hands, staring in the direction of her son. "I know that I don't do very well with relationships. It's easier to keep things simple."

Mary Margaret didn't seem too upset by that idea, but flushed a little as she made an excuse that she had been with David for so long that she had very little idea of single life other than what she saw on television. "I always thought it might be fun, but we don't get to pick when we meet our soul mate."


	3. Chapter 3

"Dinner's served," Killian announced grandly as he threw the grease stained bag onto the dining table that doubled as their combined offices on occasion. His brother was somewhere in the apartment, probably working on his hair or picking just the right sweater that would stretch across his chest in a way that would bring in more tips. He was known for that sort of thing, making him seem shallow to some. But Killian knew his brother was significantly more than just the pretty boy behind the bar at the Rabbit Hole.

"About bloody time, I'm starving," the older of the two brothers said from his bedroom. "What happened? Another emergency?"

"Dr. Hopper's dog decided to have an adventure of sorts, wound up sleeping it off down by Granny's and making the man think he'd been kidnapped." Shrugging out of his jacket, Killian grinned. "It was no kitten in a tree, but I did my part to restore law and order."

"Sounds like a rather boring day, brother. Are you sure this is the right career for you?" While he sounded disappointed, Liam had often said how proud he was of his brother for protecting the denizens of the city. His own job at the town's seediest and most popular bar was not nearly as prestigious.

"Better than serving watered down drinks to an ungrateful public." Killian was always defensive about his job, knowing that it wasn't his first choice. He had landed it quite by accident, having proven himself to David when he provided key information in a case. Others had been too scared to speak up about it, but he had done what was right and revealed what he knew.

"Oy, don't compare the two. It's simply a means to an end." He stuck his head out of the doorway and smiled, his damp hair sticking artfully to his head. "By the way, brother. Could you make yourself a bit scarce this weekend? I have a date with Belle and would like to invite her over. Last time she came by was a tad awkward with you here."

"You're simply jealous that she had more to talk with me about than you." Belle was the town's librarian and only employee of the well-stocked facility. Killian had spent a good amount of time there, resulting in the two striking up a conversation about modern fiction and its lack of character development. While Liam was not ignorant to literature, he'd been bored with the discussion and eventually gave up his attempts to woo her in favor of sleep.

"Can't blame me for that. You two even drank a rather expensive bottle of wine I had gotten for the evening. I'd rather not have a repeat performance." He ducked back into his room, his voice muffled by the sound of drawers opening and shutting. "Or you could find a lass of your own. A bit of a double date?"

"After another rejection I think I'll abstain. Besides I'll probably be working longer shifts. David's daughter is in town." He fished out the sandwiches and fresh made chips from the bag and placed them haphazardly on the plates. "He's anxious to spend some time with her."

"I didn't know David had a daughter." The clock on the wall was ticking ever forward toward his shift.

"Aye, young blonde woman," he offered. Killian went on to describe her from the blonde of her hair to the green of her eyes that seemed to lighten and darken depending on her mood around the topic of conversation. He mentioned her voice and the way she was protective and loving toward her son, describing him as adorable. Leaving out the awkward moment when she thought he was attempting to hug her, he finished his description with the scent of lavender shampoo that was still wafting toward him in his memory.

Liam appeared in the dining area and swooped his body into one of the four chairs. "A simple yes or no would have sufficed," he teased, pulling the paper off his sandwich. "So you must have met her."

"Aye, and made quite the wanker of myself in the process." He dropped his head into his folded arms dramatically and then raised back up nearly immediately to grab at his own food. "She's probably asking her father why on this earth would he hire me."

"That's to be expected, brother." He smiled around the thick cut bread and fixings. "You lack a certain charm when it comes to women." He bit into the ham and cheese, closing his eyes at the perfect way it melted together. That was something Killian always appreciated about his brother, the way simple things never slipped by his attention. He was forever paying attention to the color of the sky or the way a fabric felt under his fingertips. Though not necessarily vocal about it, he gave off little signs of his awareness.

"You've been single longer than I have."

"Aye, and I know a few things about it. This lass clearly made an impression on you. But she's the typical forbidden fruit type. First she is your boss's daughter. Forbidden. She's also a mother, which means she's not looking for a quick shag. Forbidden. She's not from around here so anything more than a shag would be impossible. Forbidden. And more than being forbidden, she clearly doesn't fancy you."

"And how do you know that? You didn't even know David had a daughter. You…"

Liam smirked, popping the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and swallowing loudly. "Aye, I may not know her, but you wouldn't be sitting here mooning over her like some lovesick little lad if she was interested in you."

***AAA***

Emma curled her knees up under her as she stared at the magazine she had found at the foot of the bed. It was wrinkled and slightly torn and worn at the edges, but still readable. At home she would have gotten out her battered copy of some murder mystery, perused the websites she frequented, or tuned into some old movie on one of the upper cable channels. It would have been preferable to the magazine that should have been thrown away years ago.

But in the cramped space of the loft, she was unsure how to deal with her insomnia. Her parents didn't need to know that she spent many nights like this. Henry was sleeping in the same room as his uncle, something she didn't want to disturb. He had not inherited her insomnia, but he had a tendency to want to fight sleep for fear of missing something important.

Her phone was next to her knee, the charging cord still attached. It was way too late to call Ingrid. Her former foster mother had told her to call whenever she wanted. But Emma knew she had an issue with carte blanche invitations like that. She had very little to report. Her mother was a bundle of energy that hated to take no for an answer. Her father was sturdier and quieter with a teasing sense of humor that he seemed to doubt if she didn't immediately laugh at his jokes.

Insomnia was not anything new to her. She had spent many nights awake and miserable as sleep beckoned and teased, unable to fully seduce her. There were many excuses for it. It was a strange place and strange bed. She had just met her parents after 22 years. Her son was apart from her in this strange place. She had a million and one thoughts running through her head.

Flopping back onto the floral sheeted bed, she groaned and threw her arm over her eyes. While her partial first day in Storybrooke had been blessedly abbreviated, she had met more people than she would be able to remember. All of them had been kind and sweet, more than a little interested when they learned who she was. But there were still some she hadn't met. Neal's father for one. He had begrudgingly agreed to talk with her the next day. His estranged wife had sent Emma a message before her arrival asking that she bring Henry by the library.

She considered that juxtaposition for a moment. On the few occasions that Neal had spoken of his father, he had claimed the man was heartless, ruthless, and conniving. Now Emma had learned that same heartless father was married to a librarian. That just didn't fit. Either way she was planning to meet them both. She knew she'd more than likely dislike Neal's father, but Belle had seemed nice enough.

She starred toward the ceiling, lowering her arm. The loft was silent as a tomb, as the occasional car passing by outside was the only sound. At home she would sneak into her kitchen and grab a late night snack to lull her into a food coma form of sleep. But the idea of doing that in her parent's home was not so comfortable. Listening carefully she heard no signs of life downstairs or in the room that Leo and Henry were sharing. Electing not to wear shoes that would make her footsteps too loud, she padded her way down the metal stairs and thanked her mother silently for the nightlight in the kitchen.

Her parents' room was separated from the rest of the space with a folding shade that was pulled across the opening. She had no intentions of waking them with loud televisions or slamming doors. She just needed to be in a different space and not feel like everything was closing in on her. She paced the perimeter of the living area, stopping briefly to study the array of framed photographs on the tables and shelves. Her mother and father were in almost every one of them with some friend, colleague or another. Apparently her mother had won teacher of the year at some banquet and was holding a large bouquet of flowers and a glass statuette. The next showed her father receiving a plaque of some kind with that hairy older man who had awkwardly hugged her next to him. Her only interpretation of that was that the man Lee or Leroy or whatever seemed to smile just as awkwardly and looked better in the knit cap he had been wearing.

There were dozens of her baby brother, a concept she wasn't sure she fully understood or accepted. She was a grown woman with a child of her own. And now she had two parents and a baby brother. It was an odd combination. They were the typical photos of first steps and cute outfits. A trip to the zoo and someone's wedding were also on display with Leo front and center. She recognized the waitress Ruby and her apparently signature red lipstick. The last one on the shelf was her father and the man she had met at the dock in front of the sheriff cruiser.

She lifted the frame and frowned at the picture staring back at her. Both men were tall and posed similarly, her father with his shoulder holster on full display. Killian stood similarly with his hands at his waist and a slight tilt of his head as he smiled at the camera. She wouldn't deny that he was handsome, probably too handsome. Men like him did not think they had to work for anything, as the world seemed to serve them anything they wished simply for being there to look good. She frowned deeply at the picture although she really had no reason to dislike him other than an awkward meeting and his too perfect everything.

"I'm lucky to have found such a good deputy," David said, startling her. She nearly dropped the frame and fumbled as she placed it back on the shelf. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I just saw…well, anyway. You met him today, right? Killian Jones."

"Yeah, he seemed…nice." She folded her arms over her middle, the shirt she was wearing feeling thin. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"I don't always sleep all night. I was heading up to check of Leo and saw you there." He kicked his foot against the stairs. "Your mom on the other hand sleeps like the dead." His foot shot out again. "I could tell you about them, if you want. The pictures, I mean. There are a lot of people in this town who love your mother and are probably more than a little curious about you."

Her hair was held back in a low ponytail that was hanging over one shoulder, she pushed it back. "You mean all these pictures didn't just come with the frames?" she asked quietly in her attempt at a joke. "Because seriously I thought this was a small town and there are about 75 people in these pictures."

"Your mother is a collector," he said with a low chuckle that was cognizant of his wife's sleeping and perhaps even Emma's trepidation. "She collects friends and loved ones. It's a bit of a sickness with her really. Once you become a part of her life, she will remember everything about you from your birthday to the way you take your coffee."

Emma smiled at that, thinking how she had a similar memory that was used for more logistical purposes. She could remember every single details of a skip and pull them out at moment's notice. It surprised her bosses. "And you?" she asked, her shoulders relaxing as she watched him heat some water and pull out a buried canister of cocoa from the depths of one of the cupboards. "You don't have so many friends?"

"I have friends, but my line of work doesn't really allow for a lot of close relationships with everyone. It's a small town and I have to uphold all the rules, laws, and mores. Plus I never know if people really like me for me or because I can get them out of a parking ticket." She didn't miss the way he glanced quickly at her to see if she laughed or smiled at his joke. It earned him a smile.

Standing, she moved toward the cupboard where she had seen her mother placing glasses and plates earlier. If her memory was working, there were coffee mugs in there. Raising an eyebrow in her father's direction, she silently asked permission which he quickly granted. He didn't miss a beat with her, continuing as promised with descriptions of the people in the photographs.

For the most part Emma let him talk without interruption. "So wait," she said at one point, ignoring the fact that he was scooping whipped cream into her cocoa without asking if she wanted that. "My grandmother is the mayor? As in the mayor?"

"Step-grandmother," he clarified. "Your mother's mother died when Mary Margaret was pretty young. Your grandpa Leopold remarried Regina." He paused in front of one of the cupboards, not really looking for anything yet keeping his eyes on the crowded contents. "She was the one who found the agency we placed you with when you were born."

"Oh," Emma said, not sure how to answer that. "I know you guys mentioned her on the phone that time. I guess she was worried about how two teenagers would raise a baby together."

"She had a point I suppose. For what it's worth, I regret it. You should have…you should have had a better life." He pulled out a canister of cinnamon and held it aloft. "This is not really where I expected this conversation to go. I know you have questions, Emma. How could you not? I don't know that we have the answers for you. We…"

Swallowing air, she interrupted. "Can I ask one question?"

"Sure," he said, sprinkling some of the cinnamon over the drink and pushing one toward her. "Ask away."

"Where did you figure out that I drink my cocoa like this? Is it in a file or something? My first bottle at the hospital? Because I'm not sure it's a normal thing for most people." She frowned as she stared at the lopsided mountain of whipped cream melting into a sea of chocolate.

"Your mother," he answered quickly, relief seeping into his tone. "Your mother has always loved it this way. I'm sorry. I should have asked. I'm just so used to making it this way that I didn't think." He watched her take one sip and then another. "You're saying you drink yours with cinnamon too?"

"Yeah. I always thought I learned that from…well, I thought it was a regional thing. And maybe it's not? Maybe it's a…hereditary thing?" She knew she had faltered that string of sentences. First she had almost mentioned Ingrid, something she wasn't sure her father or mother wanted to hear about in the middle of the night. And then she had almost said the word family. No matter what DNA tests said, she couldn't quite call them that when they were still figuring out the small things.

He didn't press or question it. "Maybe so," he said with a nod. "So Leroy, you met him earlier, he's an interesting one. He's known your mother since she was very young. But a good example of me having to walk a very narrow line between friendship and work." He proceeded to tell her of the numerous alcohol induced incidents that made Leroy a frequent visitor of the jail. "I would not be surprised if he was locked up now. It's almost unheard of him to go to the Rabbit Hole without an incident."

"And your deputy can handle that?" she asked, straddling one of the metal and wood stools at the kitchen island. "Usually when law enforcement in Boston make an arrest it's a two-person job. Safety and all that. It's a perk of being a bail bonds person. I don't have those protocols to deal with usually."

"Killian's capable of handling Leroy. And we do work together on the tougher cases. I've got one that is pretty crazy right now. Maybe you could take a look. We've been hitting our head on the wall over it. You could come by the station, read over the file, give us some tips from the big city." He leaned on the island with his elbows, cupping his hands around the mug.

"Take your daughter to work day?" she laughed. "Maybe in the afternoon? I'm supposed to meet with…" She paused to recall the names. "Belle at the library. But first I've got to meet with Henry's grandfather. His other grandfather." She could see his shoulders tense, already feeling pressure at the idea of sharing her son with someone. "It might be easier if you watched Henry while I was looking at this file."

"Sure," he said, his wedding ring tapping against the mug. "And I bet Henry would love spending some time with Killian. For a confirmed bachelor he is very good with children. I couldn't count the number of times that man has charmed smiles and laughs out of half the kids in Storybrooke. He's pretty much single handedly running our community outreach with the school here. I'm good with that since it means I can tag along and visit with Mary Margaret. But the truth is that he's a charmer."

She made a face, looking down into the now lighter colored hot cocoa since the cream had melted completely. "Of course he is."

Her father's concern was evident as he leaned forward even more. "Did something happen when you met him? Did Henry not like him?"

"No, nothing happened. He is a charmer, like you said." She didn't offer any more, the pit of her stomach feeling warm as she recalled the way that Henry had seemed very much at home in the arms of a stranger – something he had never exhibited before that moment. And the fact that Killian's blue eyes and firm jaw had woven their way into prominent positions in her memory was not helping either.

David watched her sort through those thoughts for a moment. "Yeah, so you want to hear more about the crazy residents of Storybrooke or are have my dad ramblings got you ready for bed?"

Just the mention of sleep finally had her yawning, something she didn't hide except behind her hand. "It's not the stories. I am interested. I just…"

"We have time to talk tomorrow. You haven't heard about our most nefarious criminal element in town. Will Scarlet. But that's more a discussion over burgers and fries, maybe a cold beer."

Sliding off the stool, she smiled appreciatively when he removed the mug and headed toward the sink. "That sounds like a plan. I'm going to head up. Did you want me to check on Leo? You seemed concerned enough to get up to do it but I sort of distracted you." She paused at the foot of the stairs, one foot and hand already starting the journey. "Sorry."

"Oh don't be," David said, turning on the water. "He's like your mother. He can sleep through anything." She didn't see the smile on his face with his back toward her, but she guessed it was there. He'd woken up to the sound of her wandering about the loft. She was he reason he got up, the child he was checking on in the middle of the night.

***AAA***

Mr. Gold's "not a typical pawn shop" was a weird association and contrast between old and new with an organized hoarder's paradise of antiques and technologically advanced items that she had a hard time identifying. When she entered the store that morning to the sound of tinkling bell, she could only think of the word precise upon seeing Henry's other grandfather. He wore a finely tailored suit that was too accurate to be bought off the rack. His hair was longish and dusted his shoulders in a sandy yet gray sort of waterfall that was cut so exact that she wondered just how long he spent on it each day. Even his hands were touching tweezers to an old music box with such delicacy that she pondered his patience in comparison to Neal who had never sat still for more than a moment.

He simply welcomed her and continued about his work as she gripped Henry's hand a little tighter with a silent prayer that her son not break anything too expensive. "I'll be right with you."

She wondered if she should introduce herself, but that seemed superfluous. She was right on time for their meeting and he surely couldn't have that many unknown customers. Saying nothing, she stood there rather dumbly waiting to be acknowledged again. Finally he placed the tweezers in a velvet looking casing and pushed back the lighted magnifying glass. "Yes, now. I assume you are Emma Swan."

"Um yeah. And you're Neal's dad, right? I'm sorry I don't know your first name." Neal had changed his own name after moving from the state, hoping to start anew. While the name on the outside of the shop indicated that his last name was Gold, she wasn't sure if that was correct or if it was some business decision to describe luxury and rarity.

"You may call me Mr. Gold, Ms. Swan. Now I assume you're here to talk about your son and his father – my son. Is this the boy?"

Again Emma felt like responding that no the little boy who looked so much like his father was not in fact Henry. The sarcastic side of her wanted to note that Henry was safely tucked away and this was just a prop child or stand in. She didn't. "This is Henry."

The older man circled round the glass display case that he had been standing behind. Stooping down on bent knees, he reached a single arm out. He cupped Henry's cheek and crooked his thumb under the boy's chin. "He looks much like my son."

"I've always thought so," she said, feeling the nervous squeeze of Henry's fingers in her palm. She squeezed back reassuringly. "I know that you and Neal don't have the best of relationships."

His inquisitive expression hardened. And in an instant he was standing, wiping his hand on a silk handkerchief as if to remove the remnants of touching the child. "Ms. Swan, you have a son with my son. I don't think that gives you any insight into my relationship with him."

"Maybe not," she agreed, glancing down at Henry who was doing his best to be quiet and let her have the conversation. She was glad for that, as he could have been so much worse with his curiosity and temper tantrums that were rare but frightful. Standing silent was not an easy position for a four year old. "But I know that my son will very soon be asking about his father. Neal is not even aware…"

Sucking in a sharp breath, the older man looked from mother to son and back again. "If you are here about my son, you're wasting your time, Ms. Swan. He is not in contact with me. I have no idea about his whereabouts. If he were, I would not take the time to discuss any little indiscretions he may have been a part of or privy to. So I will suggest quite firmly that you go and spend your time in this town with your parents. There is no need for reminiscing with me."

"Mr. Gold, I don't know if you are aware of the situation that Neal put me in," she said, trying another tactic. "But the reason I'm here was simply to reach out. Henry's four. He's going to question things and people. Your son doesn't even know he…"

Her words were interrupted as the bell over the front door tinkled again and thin man a few years older than herself entered. His face was drawn and his eyes narrow as he stepped into the space looking only at Mr. Gold. She knew he wasn't a new customer, as he did not seem to take any time to mull over the items on display.

"If you'll excuse me, Ms. Swan," he said walking away from her and toward the man who joined them. "Walsh, you're a bit early today. What can I do for you?"

The thin man smiled and pointed his chin in the direction of a curtained off area. "I was checking on the appraisal you were doing up for me. I may have a buyer for those tables."

"Yes, of course," Mr. Gold responded, taking a few steps toward what was apparently the main counter with its antique cash register and a display of brochures and business cards. "I will take care of that. Ms. Swan, is there anything else or does that conclude our business."

She frowned in his direction, feeling the tug of her son's hand as he noticed something in the store that had caught his attention. "I hoped you could…"

"Very well, Ms. Swan. I really must insist on taking care of business right now. Why don't you stop in later and we can discuss our mutual acquaintance?" He didn't wait for an answer, stepping behind the curtain and disappearing into the dark space.

It was obvious that he did not want to discuss Neal in front of this man, but she was far from done. Sighing, she followed her son's eye line to a few antique toys. They were far too delicate and expensive for Henry's little hands. "Come on, kid. Let's find you something a little safer to play with, okay?"

"Mr. Clark's," the man named Walsh said. When she shot him a questioning look he simply pointed in a westward direction. "He has a pharmacy just over there. It's not much but he carries a few items that might interest your son there. Toys and whatnot."

"Thank you, Mr. Walsh," she said, attempting to steer her son toward the door. "I appreciate the suggestion."

"Walsh Green," he said with a friendlier smile. "So just Walsh is fine. He's a cute kid. I don't have any of my own, but friends tell me this is a wonderful town for children. There's the park, the docks, and everyone loves the diner. There's even a theater a few blocks off from here that plays some older movies. It's…"

"Walsh, if you would please, I have your appraisal right here." Mr. Gold had appeared back in the shop's main showroom as silently as he left. His footsteps were silent and the cane he carried seemed to just skim the surface. "I wish to speak with you about the quality of the wood."

Walsh's smile was apologetic as he tipped his head forward in Emma's direction. "I apologize. Mr. Gold is doing me a little favor with this particular project. If you're ever in the market for some furniture, please let me know. I have started carrying some family friendly pieces that you might like." He held out a business card that he had fished from his coat pocket. "I'd love to see you again."

***AAA***

Best laid plans, she told herself as she stared sightlessly into the stale coffee that was remarkably weak and more tea like than anything she had in Boston. She was about to blame Killian and his English accent for that when Tink had swooped in apologetically and mentioned she was trying to get the guys off their caffeine habits with a bit of herbal substitute.

"She's eccentric," her father said with his own sort of kindly way. Emma wondered if this was the norm for him to be a father figure to everyone in town. It wasn't a thought that made her jealous. Instead she was wondering if Ingrid was right about her parents having actually missed her and regretted their young and influenced decision. Her father had laid out the case on a folding table in a windowless room that he had affectionately referred to as the conference room.

As promised her father was busily trying to win Henry over with jokes and stories. She wasn't sure but she thought she even saw him pull a few pieces of candy out of his pocket. Though she tried to limit some of the sugar in his diet, she was sure that it was somewhere in the grandfather handbook to spoil a grandson. So she allowed it and studied the schematic in silence. That was until Killian wandered in to help her.

"Your father says you are in law enforcement," Killian said, sliding a to go cup of coffee in front of her and removing the mug to dump when Tink wasn't watching. "Must run in the family."

"I'm not a cop. I'm a bail bonds person. There's a difference." She didn't mean to sound smug, but it must have done the trick. Killian retreated to the file cabinet in the crowded room and began searching. She took a sip of the strong blend and smiled to herself over the familiar scent and taste on her tongue. Looking up, she watched him fumble with the file he had mistakenly pulled out. "Thanks. For the coffee. Thanks for the coffee."

It was as if he had been holding his breath and waiting for some signal to speak to her again. "You're most welcome." Giving a stealthily look over his shoulder, he spoke in a low tone. "I made friends with the barista once Tink started this whole organic routine."

She took another sip and lifted the sleeved cup in gratitude. "So is it usually this dead around here? You don't seem to have much going on other than the phone."

"Aye, we're hardly a hot bed of criminal activity. This latest rash of missing cargo down at the docks appears to be our hottest case at the moment." He closed the drawer with a satisfying thud, dropping a cream colored folder on the map she was studying. "You're used to more high stakes work?"

She huffed, pushing the folder out of the way so she could study the diagrams again. "Men and women skip out on their bail and I catch them. It's not something that really matters. I'm just getting them back so their wives or husbands, parents, or whoever aren't out thousands of dollars because they are idiots."

His pleasant expression broke a little, but it returned quickly. "I'm sure you're a hero to them." When she didn't respond to that blatant bit of flattery, he changed tactics and opened the file. "This is a list of the items reported as missing. Most were found in shops within about 300 or so kilometers. Up and down the coast mainly."

She nodded, wiping a bit of the coffee off her top lip with her finger. "What was the timeframe?"

"Usually a month, maybe more in some cases. The curious thing is that the thief or thieves aren't taking the usually treasure. We're not seeing a rash of electronic thefts, jewelry or anything like that."

She glanced at the spreadsheet, cocking her head to better view where he was pointing. "Those are really large items."

"Aye, it's not really your typical haul," he said, reclining back in the padded chair. "Your father said you…"

Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing on him. "You and my father seem to be having a lot of conversations about me. Look, I don't know if you understand the situation here with me. But there isn't anyone in this town who knows me. My father included. So if you want to know something just ask. I don't really like people asking or talking about me behind my back."

Disappointment mingled with shame on his features. "I'm sorry. I suppose I was a bit curious about you."

"You and everyone else," she muttered, her finger running along the list. She made it down another three items before she felt his eyes staring at her. Lifting her gaze to his, she sighed. "What?"

"I was thinking of what I wanted to ask," he said sheepishly, his nose wrinking and his finger hovering below his ear. "I gather that you have very little patience for small talk. So asking about your favorite color, food, or movies would be a waste. You don't seem to like me so I dare not get too personal. You're a challenge, Emma. And I do love a challenge."

One side of her mouth ticked up in an almost smile. "You're right," she said finally. "I don't want you to get too personal."

"Aye, that's probably best. Your father is my boss. I shouldn't be making the boss angry if I want to keep my job. But you do intrigue me. I can't quite figure you out, love."

She crossed her legs at her ankles, her black boots squeaking on the floor. "Don't call me love,. And to answer your questions, red, grilled cheese sandwiches with onion rings, and Star Wars. The original three, not the prequels." She took another sip of her coffee. "And thanks for the coffee, Jones."


	4. Chapter 4

Mary Margaret had the most energy of anyone Emma had ever met. She was simultaneously dicing potatoes, telling Emma about her day at school, and keeping an eye on the play table where Leo was studiously playing with blocks alongside Henry. All the while she wore a pleasant smile on her face and kept a near hum in her voice. "So I was thinking we might get manicures and pedicures at this spa just around the corner from here. It's so relaxing, don't you think?"

Digging in her bag for Henry's truck, Emma paused and looked curiously at her mother. "I thought you had to work."

"Oh Emma, I couldn't work the whole time you're here in town. I got a substitute and my assistant will be doing most of the lessons. I thought we could spend some time together…just us girls." She dropped another pile of diced potatoes into a pot, wiping her damp hand on a nearby towel. "I even asked my friend Ashley if she would mind babysitting Henry if you were okay with that. She runs a childcare center and keeps Leo most days."

Tilting her head to the side, Emma regarded her mother suspiciously. "I don't know. He's kind of skittish around new people. Family trait, I guess. I'm sort of the same way."

Her knife stopped in the air as she prepared to dice the next potato. "Oh I didn't think of that. No, babysitters are out. We'll take the boys with us. It'll be great. You know there is this mom and me class I go to a few times a month. I think they're planning an outing on Thursday. Most of the moms have babies, but there are a few kids Henry's age. We should go. You could meet some other moms. He could play with some other kids. What do you say?"

"We'll see," Emma said, hesitating as she dug her arm deeper in the bag to fish out her son's toy. Coming up empty, she frowned. "I bet I left it at the library during our lunch with Belle. Darn it. He's going to be really fussy without that thing."

Her mother looked concerned before gesturing with the point of the knife toward her own phone. "Call her. She's in my contacts. She's been keeping the library open later hours recently to help some of the kids out at school. I bet she's there. She'll be happy to drop it off. Or she could drop it off with your dad. The station's right there."

Emma reached her hand out toward the phone when instead of hearing a ring tone, she heard the pounding on the door. Giving a defeated sigh, as her mother's hands were still busy and her attention diverted by a shout from Leo, Emma waved off her attempts to help and walked toward the door with Henry tagging along. Ever curious, Henry couldn't bear the idea of not knowing who was coming for a visit.

"Well, hello there, lad," Killian sang out as she opened the door. Her son, who had been pulling on her denim clad leg, popped out from behind her and greeted the deputy with a toothy grin. "I believe I have something that belongs to you."

Killian knelt before Emma and Henry, digging into the messenger bag at his side and removing first a yellow and black dump truck and then a book. "My truck," Henry exclaimed, throwing himself at the truck and Killian at the same time. One hand clung to his once lost toy and the other arm snaked around Killian's neck. Without even being prompted, he offered his gratitude. "Thank you!"

"You're more than welcome, Henry," Killian said cheerily when the boy pulled away. As Henry ran toward the now very curious Mary Margaret to show her the truck, Emma watched as Killian righted himself and held out the book. "Belle said she meant for the lad to take this with him. Said it was one of her son's favorites when he was the same age."

"Thank you for bringing them," Emma managed, her left foot crossing behind her right leg and dragging the toe of her boot along her calf. "I was just about to call her when I realized we forgot them. You didn't have to make a house call."

"Aye, it's not my style normally, but Belle popped in and David suggested I stop in. After all, I owe your lovely mother a debt for keeping her class under control during my latest safety lecture. I would have already lost my bloody mind with 30 or so of them around all the time."

"Still, it was nice that you brought them. He's sort of attached to that truck." As if to prove her point, Henry drove the vehicle over the arm of the wicker sofa and across its back, making engine sounds the whole way. "That and pirate ships."

"Killian," Mary Margaret called out, her hands now freshly washed and her smile as bright as ever. "Stay for dinner? I'm making chicken, green beans, and mashed potatoes. I know you love those."

He smiled warmly at the teacher, touching his hand to the back of his neck. "That's a lovely invitation, love, but I'm afraid I can't. Your husband is following up on a lead. If I stay here, he'll miss dinner with the family. We can't have that."

Mary Margaret frowned, ignoring her daughter's sigh of relief. "At least take some food then. I've got the chicken ready. It's been in the slow cooker all day. And the green beans are ready too."

"Like I said, you're a saint, Mary Margaret. An absolute saint."

Not waiting for an argument from anyone, Mary Margaret busied herself preparing a plate for him and leaving them both awkwardly standing in the door. It was Emma who realized the fact that he was still in the door frame and not actually in the loft apartment. "So I guess you should come inside," she offered, still clinging to the door itself.

"I didn't get to mention it to you, but if you have any other ideas on that case, I'd love to hear them. Your thoughts about where the merchandise could be hidden were quite brilliant." He smiled at her, his teeth gleaming.

"I didn't solve the case." She stepped aside to let him inside, watching him saunter in with such swagger that she had flashbacks of perps she had nailed who thought they would never be caught. "It's just investigation 101."

"Well, it got us to thinking. That's where David is now, back at the station talking to Eric. He works at the docks and is usually in the know about these things."

"And he doesn't have you interviewing him? That's usually the kind of grunt work that deputies do." She crossed her arms over her chest as the door fell closed. Having left him still holding the picture book, he was forced to place it down on the coffee table.

"Normally it would be," he agreed after an awkward pause. "Your father has a better relationship with Eric than I do. It's rather complicated and includes quite an affair of the heart I'm afraid."

Emma's eyebrow raised as she studied him and the way is cheeks flushed under her study. While she wouldn't feed his ego, he was handsome and there was something soft in his too blue eyes that seemed to beckon to her without regard for her jagged pieces. However, she knew his type. He was trouble and likely to be even more offensively shallow and egotistical just because he was so handsome and worked for her father. "I wasn't aware that you are gay. It's great that you are so comfortable with yourself that you can be out even at work."

He squinted back in return for a moment, almost trying to rehear her words. "I'm not gay, love. Nothing wrong with being gay, but I'm not. No, I had a date with Eric's girlfriend while they were separated. Seems the bloke's none too pleased with that and has become a bit belligerent where I'm concerned."

Mary Margaret appeared with a canvas back that was filled with what had to be more than a bit of chicken and green beans. She shoved it into Killian's hands, giving him a quick hug that he awkwardly reciprocated with his eyes still on Emma. "That whole mess with Eric will blow over," she insisted. "It's my fault. I set you up on the date with Ariel. She's just not ready to date yet. I'll talk to him though and smooth it all out."

He gave the two women a slight head dip and said a quick goodbye, pausing to tell Henry that he had thought he had spotted a pirate on his way over. "Stay in sight of your lovely mum, Henry. Wouldn't want a pirate to steal her away."

***AAA***

By 10 that night Leo and Henry had been in bed for hours and her parents were in their room. She fell back against the soft bed linens, her hair fanning out across the pillow. Ingrid was right that she should at least try to get to know her parents. They seemed like nice people, despite their decision to place her for adoption. And while there was a bitterness still inside her, she was sure they had meant well and had no idea that she would be lost in a system of group homes and temporary placements.

A manicure wasn't such a bad idea, she thought to herself as she held up a hand to inspect the state of her nails. Her mother would do most of the talking and all she would have to do is respond occasionally. The mommy and me class seemed a bit much, but that was still a day away so there was that. She even felt a little tired at the prospect and felt the tug of sleep pulling her under until her phone tinkled its text message greeting.

 **August: I heard you're in Storybrooke. What made you decide to go there?**

She frowned at the idea that he was aware of her location, even if she did consider him a friend. They had met early in her years of foster care. He was a few years older than her, but managed to keep himself as immature as possible. She gave him a short answer about visiting her parents. His delayed response indicated he was not expecting that.

 **August: In Storybrooke? How the hell did you find them? Are you aware that Neal and I both came from there?**

Small world indeed, she groused internally. Instead she texted back. "I knew about Neal, but you? This town is not that big. How on earth?"

 **August: Are you there looking for Neal?**

 **Emma: That ship has sailed buddy. I don't look for Neal. I did talk to his father though.**

 **August: So that's why Neal knew you were there. I got a call from him asking if I knew why.**

She was tempted to throw the phone across the room and ignore the message that Neal was in touch with August. It made sense, she thought as she stared at the screen until it dimmed and went black completely. Swiping her thumb across it with a steely determination, she pressed August's name in her short list of contacts and waited for him to pick up.

"What the hell? You've been talking to him? Did you tell him about Henry?"

"Emma, no, I didn't tell him about Henry. I encouraged him to call you. I wanted him to find out from you."

She wasn't fully sure she could believe him, as August had a tendency to lie or stretch the truth. And if she was being honest, she wasn't sure she wanted to know the truth either. The three of them had been quite good friends for a while. Then when it looked as though the police were going to close in on Neal for stealing a few dozen insanely expensive watches from a previous employer, he had bailed and convinced August to help him. That left Emma holding the bag and taking the blame for the amateurish attempt to fence them.

"Emma, are you there?"

"Yeah," she answered, shaking her head. "Is there anything else I should know? I mean I just met the guy's father. He's a piece of work. Is there anything else…"

"Emma, I'm not sure how you see all this playing out, but Neal's talking about coming there to talk to you. I know he's done some shit that you're pretty mad about and not exactly ready to forgive, but…"

She pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "Look, I forgave you for helping him. I'm not even that angry. I just wanted him to know about Henry. He has a right to know. And hearing that you've been having weekly chats with the guy sort of pisses me off."

"It wasn't like that. He would call sometimes. Usually drunk. You know how he is. It was just a conversation or two. Your name didn't even come up. I swear." August continued to tell her of the conversations, nonsensical rantings, memories of the past. None of it very interesting or pertinent. "If he calls again, what do you want me to say?"

"I want you to give me his number, August. If he's too drunk to make sense, he didn't mask his caller id. Tell me where he is, August. Tell me."

It took a little more convincing, but she finally got to sleep with the number of her ex scribbled on a sheet of paper and tucked into the case of her phone. She wasn't sure if she was going to use it. Neal had never indicated that he had any plans at reconciling or contacting her. If pressed, she wasn't sure she could articulate exactly how she saw things playing out with Neal. Would he want to know Henry? He'd had lots of thoughts on a future when they were together. He'd put ideas in her head about faraway places, big houses, and plans for their years to come. They would have two kids, real jobs, cars that ran all the time without fail. They'd have money, but more than that security. They'd be a family in a home. It was all she had wanted. And then it was gone. He'd left her with keys to a stolen car that he'd made good, no note, not message, nothing. She had memories and a positive pregnancy test, not to mention a record of a juvenile arrest.

"Mama?" Henry called from the room he shared with her brother. She was up in an instant, well aware of her son's lack of dramatic displays. If he called out to her, he needed something. She swept into the room, attempting to ignore the sight that greeted her right away of her brother. He was in the crib sound asleep, one arm thrown in a curved half circle over his head. It was how she slept too, as did Henry. Her heart stuttered for a moment as she saw that resemblance in him. But Henry called to her again and broke the spell.

"Hey kid," she whispered, scooping him up from the daybed where he sat in the middle with a frightened expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

Tears were fresh on her son's cheeks, damp and creating tiny streaks on his pale cheeks. "Bad dream," he managed to say, burying his face into her collar.

She kissed the top of his head and hurriedly carried him back across the hall to the room where her bed was located. "You want to stay with me tonight? Your mama's pretty good at fighting the bad guys. I'll protect you."

She could only hear the sniffles of his reply, his head bobbing against her. So pushing back the blankets, she settled them down, her son's breathing evening out even as she reached over to flip off the lamp. "I love you, mama."

"I love you too, Henry." She pushed back a bit of the hair that fell across his forehead, watching as his brown eyes closed slowly and mouth parted into that still infantile bow mouth shape. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

***AAA***

Mary Margaret's plans for the day seemed to have grown overnight. She was now talking of the children's museum on the edge of town and a pumpkin patch that wouldn't be too crowded on a weekday. She was slathering peanut butter on bread as her husband flipped pancakes into tall stacks that filled the air with the scent of maple and nutmeg.

"I borrowed another car seat from Ashley," she was announcing as soon as Emma appeared. "I thought we could take my car. It's easier than trying to walk with these two."

"Good thinking," David complimented her, looking on adoringly as she finished another sandwich. "It looks as though the weather might be a bit chilly today."

"Did you hear that, Leo? You get to wear your new hat that Granny made you. Yes, you do. You're going to be such a handsome boy." Her mother finished the last sandwich, storing it in a wrapper and then dumping it in her bag. "Emma, Henry! I have a present for Henry too. Granny made him a hat." She hurried over and pulled out the off white knitted stocking. It was just the perfect size and would look great on him.

"Thanks," Emma said, running her fingertips over it. "It's soft."

"She has a real talent for it," Mary Margaret said stooping down to Henry's level. "She knits when she gets bored or when she needs to keep her hands busy." Mary Margaret looked lovingly at her grandson, reaching out to cup his cheek and then pulling her hand back. "I almost forgot. I needed to finish charging my phone." In a flash she was up and scampering back into the bedroom.

"So you're not going with us today?" Emma asked David, taking a seat at the counter, Henry's hat still in her hand as he marched over to the couch and climbed up. She knew she was being a bit petty, but she seemed to enjoy her conversations with her father more than her mother.

"Killian and I've got a lot of reports to get through before the state sends their guy in." He placed a plate on the bar in front of her. "Henry like pancakes okay?"

"Pancakes!" Henry screeched excitedly. "I love pancakes."

"That answer your question?" Emma asked teasingly, lifting her son who was running in the direction of the food. "Come on kid. Let's get some breakfast." By the time Mary Margaret came back, she was greeted with the sight of her daughter laughing at between bites as Henry made himself a sticky mess. Her plastered on smile faded at the sight.

"You're good with him," she said as she tried to recover. "I hope…I hope I'm as good with Leo. It's amazing really. I am looking at my daughter who is managing to do all this on her own. You're so good about it." While she looked a bit embarrassed, Mary Margaret did manage to look fondly at her daughter.

Emma's face flushed as she pushed back Henry's hair that was falling into his eyes. "You're a teacher. Of course you're going to be good with your son. He'll probably be reading Shakespeare and solving algebra before he even gets to school." She honestly had very little to use to judge her mother's parenting skills, but the woman seemed to earnest and desperate for approval that Emma couldn't help but offer at little.

It was David who looked the most flustered as he straightened up and prepared another plate. If Emma noticed, she said nothing. Instead she tried to concentrate on anything but the pull of her mother's wistful gaze.

"You're sweet to say that," her mother finally managed, getting her son's cereal out of the cupboard. "I just can't get over how well behaved and smart Henry is though. You were so young when you had him, but you seem to have done a good job so far. I suppose I wonder if it was hard for you to decide to raise him on your own. I know it's not my business, but I was curious…"

"Mary Margaret," David said warningly, adjusting the stack on the extra plate. "Maybe now's not the best time…"

Emma placed a few slices of the banana on Henry's breakfast and watched him happily dig into the dish for a moment. "No, no, it's okay. I guess we should talk about it, right? I mean it's one of those things hanging out there." She then lifted and replaced her fork at the edge of her plate. "So yes, I got pregnant when I was still a teenager." She gave them a quick rundown of her relationship with Neal and how she had found out she was pregnant after he was gone and she was in a detention center. "I gave birth about three weeks before my release. The social worker was there and had a family lined up for him, but I just couldn't. Maybe it would have been easier. Maybe he would have…maybe he would have had a mom, dad, dog, siblings, and the whole thing. But I didn't make that decision."

Mary Margaret averted her eyes, tears that had yet to fall glistening in the artificial light of overhand lamps. "You were stronger than I was," she managed to say before she dabbed at the corners of both eyes. "You…"

"I made the right decision for me and for Henry," Emma responded, brushing off the comment. "That doesn't make your decision about me wrong. It is just different."

"It still took a lot of courage," David interjected. "I think you're great for stepping up and taking responsibility. If I had to do it over…"

It was Emma's turn to shake her head almost violently. "No, look, I'm not trying to say that I did something better or made the right choice and you made the wrong one. The situations were different. You were young and in school. You had future plans and parents or stepparents who were worried about you and how you would raise me. I didn't really have anyone telling me I couldn't do this." She frowned, lifting the fork back up and shoveling in a huge bite of the pancakes. It forced her to quiet herself, not wanting to offer them an explanation that might hurt everyone. She had held Henry that day, red and squirming against her, and realized that for the first time in her life she was not alone. She had a son. And that seemed to ground her. It gave her purpose. It gave her a reason to pull her life together instead of becoming a statistic of petty crime and bad choices. But all of that seemed too much to share over heavy carbohydrates and weak coffee that she hoped would get stronger if she offered to make it herself later.

"Emma, I understand that you're probably holding a lot of hurt feelings over…"

She squeezed her eyes closed so tightly that she felt like her five years old again and hiding under the covers from the loud cracks of thunder outside her bedroom window. But she wasn't five. She was an adult and she was facing the people who had despite their intentions left her in the care of people more interested in stipends and benefits than actually nurturing her. But as she stared at the kind face of her father and the earnest one of her mother, it was hard to remember why she felt as she did. "We can't change any of that," Emma said after she swallowed. "All we can do is move forward, right? So we get to know each other. We figure out what this all looks like from there."

"We have a sensible daughter," David said, flipping on the faucet with his elbow. "She has a good point."

***AAA***

Killian stepped over the stacks of clothes that his brother had piled neatly but obtrusively on the living room floor. An apple in his hand and his messenger back slung over his shoulder. It appeared that his brother was in the midst of a laundry obsession, perhaps washing every article of clothing in his wardrobe.

"Care to explain?" he asked, turning away from the door where he could have escaped without question. "Are you short on cash and taking in other people's wash?"

"Very funny, brother," Liam said, folding the sleeves on a faded green t-shirt back. "I just thought it was high time I organized a few things in my life. So I came home this morning and set to work on my closet."

Killian searched for the right words that would give him an edge against his normally pithy brother, but found none. So instead he flashed a brilliant smile and ducked out the door, calling out to him on his way. "When you finish that stack, I've got a closet too, brother."

The morning air was chilly and the breeze coming from the water a few blocks away was brisk as he hurried away toward David's loft apartment. He knew that he was early, but he'd woken up a full hour before his alarm and stared sightlessly at the ceiling wondering if he might have the opportunity to see Emma that day. He'd just seen her the night before, delivering the forgotten toy and book to her son. And while that wasn't usually his role and David could have carried it home just as easily, he'd jumped at the chance to see her. That had not sat well with him, as he was not the type of guy who normally developed crushes or sought out affection and attention from a woman.

If Emma had been anyone but his boss's daughter, he'd probably have at least gotten her phone number by now. They would have exchanged a few flirty texts and he would have used his technique of calling her and telling her that some beautiful sunset or romantic song had made him think of her. Those things usually worked well with women. But he felt rudderless in his interest in her. None of the usual flirting and wooing seemed appropriate. So for most of that extra hour he had tried to come up with some benign way to continue to see and talk to her without offending his boss or losing his job.

He did notice that Mary Margaret's SUV was missing from its normal spot as he rounded the corner with the building in sight. Disappointment coursed through him, as he was aware that Emma had plans with the teacher that day and was probably already gone. He was right. Feeling foolish and immature, he grimaced that he was even letting his thoughts go in such a direction.

"You're not usually this punctual, Jones," David said, sipping on coffee and turning slowly through the flimsy newspaper pages. "Is there any particular reason you're so eager this morning?"

"Touch of insomnia," he said with a wry chuckle as he grabbed his plate that David had made and plopped himself down at the table rather than the island. "I thought we could get started on the inventory records this morning. Was Eric of any help?" He craned his neck in what he thought was a barely noticeable way to see that there was no sign of Emma's jacket or purse were there. She really was gone.

"They left about 15 minutes ago," David supplied, smiling against the rim of his cup. "Eric didn't have that much to contribute but did give me a few ideas in terms of the timeline. So when did you decide it was okay to pursue my daughter?"

Killian's eyebrows nearly met his hairline as he stared after his boss. "I didn't…I mean…Bloody hell, Dave. I was simply wondering if she was about. Her suggestions on the inventory logs and checking a few of those sites was quite brilliant. I simply hoped…"

"Stay away from her," David said in what was not really a threatening tone but rather a soft request. "Emma's not really the type you're looking for, Jones. And she's my daughter, which most guys in your position would appreciate as being off limits for the sake of their careers."

"I wasn't…"

"You were, but now you won't, right?"

***AAA***

The children's museum was not quite as loud as Emma had feared it might be when her mother suggested it. There was only one school group there, leaving most of the activities and play sets for younger children vacant and open for Henry and Leo. Mary Margaret was all in on the playtime, removing her shoes and diving into the imagination station that was shaped like the bow of a large ship with blue plastic balls beneath to simulate the ocean. Henry was squealing with happiness as his grandmother played alongside him.

Leo, who had very little interest in anything other than two of the balls, sat on Emma's lap, happily jabbering away about this and that. She bounced him a bit and the two had their own version of a conversation until her phone chirped. Emma looked down at it briefly and the barely recognizable number seemed to glow extra bright as reality sank in for her. Neal.

"I'm going to kill, August," she said quietly as she hovered her finger over the reject button. In her hesitation she had a second thought and accepted the call. "Hello?"

"Em? Em, is that you?" Neal asked, his voice achingly familiar and the nickname just as annoying. "I can't believe…"

"What do you want, Neal?" Emma asked, dropping any pretense that she didn't know who was calling. "You haven't bothered to call in a few years so I'm not sure…"

"You're in Storybrooke. What are you…Why are you?"

"Articulate as ever, Neal," Emma said, gathering Leo in her arms and making her way from the edge of the pirate play area to the back just in case her mother had better hearing than she thought. "I'm here visiting my parents. It has nothing to do with you."

"Your parents? You don't have…"

Emma sighed, lifting her brother higher on her hip as he began to slip. "Everyone has parents. Even if you don't know or acknowledge them. It's basic biology." She cringed as she said it, knowing deep down that he didn't know how true that was in this case. He had a child. A son. And she had to tell him about his son.

"I guess," he managed to say, interrupting her thoughts. "Look, Em…Emma, I know you went to see him. My father, I mean. I know you went there. You should have known I wouldn't be in touch with him. So if you are looking for me, then you're a fool for going to him." She could hear the sounds of traffic behind him, obviously walking in an urban setting.

"My visiting my biological parents has nothing to do with you, Neal, but yes, I did see your father. This isn't really a conversation I want to have over the phone. There are some things…"

"There are some things I need to say to you too," he interrupted, echoed by the sound of a passing siren. "Lots actually. Can we meet up when you get away from that place?"

She shifted her weight again, letting her green eyes fall on her son. He had no idea. "I was just thinking that maybe we could just skype or something. I don't really want to meet."

Mary Margaret looked curiously at her daughter, her arms lifted above her head as she painstakingly hoisted one of the plastic sails. Returning a sort of half smile, Emma lowered her cheek to the top of Leo's head and hoped that was reassurance enough for her mother. Neal was oblivious, continuing to prattle on about how he wanted to see her.

"Look, I said I would talk to you. Now just isn't a good time."

"And when do you think would be good? Damn it, Ems, I haven't seen you in years. And now I find out you are practically stalking me. I'm halfway tempted to call the cops on you." The rest of his rant died off as he was drowned out by a group of people shouting in another language.

"Really, Neal? Really? You already had me arrested and thrown in jail. That would be nothing new. But if you want to call the cops? Go ahead. I suggest calling the sheriff of Storybrooke. He's familiar with me."

She didn't wait on a response before ending the call with the slight regret that she was not on a landline she could slam down. Giving her brother a little bounce, she confided in him that the call had not gone well.

"Emma?" her mother called, obviously not convinced by the smile from before. "Is everything alright? You look stressed."

"It's nothing," Emma assured her, turning her own attention to her son. "Hey kid. You're doing a great job as a pirate. I may have to find a real boat to take you out on soon."

***AAA***

Emma sat at the second table inside Granny's with her son and brother as he mother was busy across the room discussing a student's grades with his father. Both boys were aptly occupied, her son coloring a picture that she asked about from time to time and Leo nodding off despite the busy nature of the diner. "Tell me about that," Emma asked her son when he added another figure to his picture.

"That's my new dog," he informed her, once again pointing to the two blob like people and a brown circle like figure next to them. "That's me. That's you. That's Barkley."

"I see," she remarked, smiling at his imaginative and persuasive way of showing his interest in a dog. "I bet he's very cute, but you know our apartment doesn't allow dogs. Maybe someday though, okay?"

Henry wasn't old enough to understand covenants or rules that well, but he also didn't have the vocabulary to fully argue with his mother. So he just returned to his picture, adding bits of sky and grass to it as he went along.

"Are you sure I can't get you anything?" the waitress asked again, this time sliding into the booth across from Emma and Henry. "Mary Margaret tends to get caught up in those school discussions. It might be a while."

"Maybe a milk for him?" she said, nodding her chin toward her son. "Thanks…" She grasped for the woman's name.

"Ruby," the woman supplied with a bright smile parting her painted red lips. "You don't know how great it is to actually get to meet you. Your mom and I have been friends forever. The trouble she's gotten me out of over the years…well, anyway. She's always wondered about you, you know? On your birthday she would come in with your father and they'd share a cupcake with a candle in it. Said she would make a wish for you. It was kind of sweet and sad at the same time, you know?"

"Sure," Emma said, rubbing her hand on Henry's back as the woman showed no signs of standing up. "It's kind of amazing that you're still friends after all these years."

Ruby must not have found it too amazing, as she simply shrugged. "It's a small town. There isn't really a lot of turnover in the friend department here. Not many new people show up. People don't leave. It's kind of boring, but it makes for a good place sometimes too. You live in Boston, right?"

"Yeah, it's been home for a few years."

"I wish I could live like that. I always said I wanted to live in a big city. Get a job that pays better than this place. Meet new people. See new things." She flipped her long thick hair over one shoulder. "But I'll probably just end up here for the rest of my life."

Emma smiled thoughtfully, noting that Henry's picture was starting to fill the page to the point that he might run out of room soon. "Here doesn't seem like a bad place."

"No, it's not. So one milk? Soy? Regular? Chocolate? Anything else for you? We have soda, coffee, tea, and some lemonade. We also have a somewhat stocked bar. Nothing I would recommend though. If you ever want to get a drink, the place to go is the Rabbit Hole. Cheap, somewhat passable drinks, and plenty of people. It's not half bad."

"I'll keep that in mind," Emma said, ordering him a chocolate milk while aware that the lunch crowd was already pouring in and the curious stares at her were continuing. She was half tempted to stand and make some sort of announcement about herself in the hopes that they would move on to another topic. It probably wouldn't work.

"I used to go more…before I met Dorothy. She's not really the bar or club type. Doesn't dance, drink, shoot pool." She cocked her head to the side, the dark waterfall of hair falling artfully over her shoulder again. "You do, right? Maybe we could do something one evening? What about tonight? I know you're here to visit your parents, but this town needs more hot, fun women."

"I'm not…"

Ruby's smile widened and her hand flew out in front of her. "I wasn't hitting on you, Emma. I just thought that every night with your parents might get old after a while. If it does, let me know. We can blow off some steam with cheap drinks that I bet we could get for free if we dress right, and a bit of dancing to loud music that we can't quite place from the radio. Or we could go do some hot yoga or for a run. I'm flexible." She slid out of the booth and rearranged the half apron over her almost too short skirt. "I was going to be your godmother, you know? Before your parents were backed into a corner about placing you for adoption? Your mom wanted me to be your godmother."

"I asked that because I thought you were going to be a good influence on her," Mary Margaret interjected, her academic discussion over as she maneuvered past her friend with a squeeze her arm and a wink at Emma. "And now you're trying to influence her with drinks at the Rabbit Hole?"

Ruby shrugged innocently, rocking back a step. "I don't plan on leaving her drunk in a puddle out by the mayor's house. I was just thinking she might like to see some of the less reputable and family friendly places in this town." Dropping her voice to a theatrical whisper, she leaned in toward Mary Margaret. "You know if she goes out, you'll get to babysit your adorable grandson. Win-win situation."

"You don't have to stay in every night with us," Mary Margaret conceded once Ruby disappeared into the kitchen. "I mean, I know you're here to get to know us and us to get to know you. It doesn't have to be boring." She frowned, staring at her hands like they were curved around an invisible cup on tea or coffee. "Ruby's a lot of fun most of the time. She…" The light from the afternoon sun through the windows was streaming in and glinted off the heart shaped locket around Mary Margret's neck. It was a simple design that just dipped into the boat neck collar of her sweater.

"She seems great," Emma finished for her. Rescuing a crayon that threatened to fall off the table, Emma watched the crowd at the counter for a moment. "I would like to see this Rabbit Hole place. Maybe the three of us could go? I mean, David's capable of babysitting Henry and watching Leo, right? Make it a girls' night out?"

"Definitely," her mother exclaimed happily. "I'll text him now."

***AAA***

"You can do better," Belle announced as she bounced on the balls of her feet and swatted at the jar of spices with her fingers around dinner time that evening. "Ariel's not over Eric by a long shot."

"I am well aware of that," Killian answered, leaning against the door frame with the amused expression of a man who was entertained by his brother's rushed attempts at a romantic moment. Liam had to work that night, but when Belle had called with an invitation for dinner, he had jumped at the chance that would include showing off his culinary prowess. "She is a lovely lass, but hardly available or my type."

Handing off the jar to Liam, Belle narrowed her eyes at Killian. "And you have a type? I thought you were not picky about who you bedded?"

"Oy, what have you been telling her about me, brother?" Killian wasn't off duty either, but he had forwarded the calls and driven home for a change of clothes and what he assumed would be a sandwich for dinner. He hadn't expected to find his brother and Belle feeding each other pasta and giggling between reenactments of Lady and the Tramp.

"Only the truth, brother, only the truth. But you do have a point. It appears Ariel isn't exactly your type. I believe you prefer to fancy an apparently brilliant blonde, single mother, whose father is your supervisor. Am I right?"

If Belle had been drinking something, she might have sputtered it across the kitchen. Instead, she snorted inelegantly. "Wait, you're dating Emma? Emma, as in David and Mary Margaret's daughter? Do you have a death wish? David isn't going to react well to this."

Killian sighed with an annoyance that only a sibling or a sibling's friend could provoke, dropping his head against the frame of the door. "I don't fancy Emma. I'm not completely daft."

Humming the word denial, Liam thrust his hip out to bump Belle's. "Whatever you say, brother. You think I didn't notice you rose early this morning and took extra time getting ready. I doubt that was for David's benefit." He threw an arm around Belle with a short laugh. "You've met this lass, Belle. Is she truly worth all the fuss my brother appears to be going through to simply get her to talk to him?"

Belle cupped Liam's cheek to turn his sardonic stare at his brother back to her. "She's pretty and seems very sweet from the little we talked. Probably too smart for Killian though."

Killian's frustrated grunt filled the air as he reached around them for his keys. "I'm leaving. I don't care to be insulted any longer."


	5. Chapter 5

The music was not loud, but the bass thumped heavily enough that Emma could feel it in her chest as she nursed her mixed drink and dragged a straw through the combination of soda, liquor, and melting ice. She'd never really had much opportunity to frequent bars and the like as a single mother who was just over the age of legal drinking. And the thought that she was there with her mother and her mother's best friend was more than a little off putting.

Mary Margaret it seemed was more of a contemplative drinker, making not so wise observations and treating each as an amazing discovery of science or art. Ruby was loud. From her boisterous appearance and her ability to coax anyone out onto the cramped dance floor, Emma hoped that her mother's friend would simply ignore the fact that Emma had not truly embraced the idea of dancing in the small space between pool tables and sports fans.

"This place is nice," she said to Mary Margaret who was alternating between dropping off to sleep and studying something at the bottom of her glass.

"It's a dump," the teacher said with such determination that Emma couldn't help but offer a half smile. "Someone should paint it at least." Throwing her arm up wildly and thankfully not swinging it at any of the other patrons, she points vaguely at a wall. "There's graffiti there that says Henry loves Cora. Seriously? Do you know how old that must be?"

Emma had no idea who this Henry and Cora were, but she wasn't going to ask and be dragged into another history of Storybrooke lesson that would have her begging for mercy. Instead she gestured with her chin toward a group of burly men wearing Viking caps in the corner near a television screen. "Did they get lost from Minnesota? I didn't know you had Viking fans here."

"They're not so bad," her mother slurred, lifting her drink in their direction to give a silent toast. "I like em."

Not sure how to respond, Emma sipped her drink and tried to ignore the sight of Ruby sashaying toward them to the beat of the music. While Emma had not brought anything suitable for bars or clubs in her suitcase, she had dressed in a more modest and comfortable pair of black skinny jeans and a gray sweater with an asymmetrical neck. She looked like a nun compared to Ruby's red dress that was covered by a sheer sheath of black lace. It was shorter and tighter than it had to be, but looked as though it were a second skin on her. Her mane of jet black hair was tipped with red and her makeup was precise but heavy with emphasis on her full lips. Those lips smacked against Mary Margaret's cheek as she extended a hand to Emma. "Watch our stuff," she ordered her friend. "I want to see Emma's moves."

Finding herself being yanked and led to the dance floor, Emma scowled. "I don't dance."

"Sure you do," Ruby coaxed. "Come on, dance with your auntie Ruby."

Emma chuckled as she swayed a little with the fast pace of the music. "You're drunk," she called out over the thumping.

Holding her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, Ruby threw her head back in a short but intense laugh. "Little bit." Her arm raised above her head as she seemed to lose herself in the techno like track. Eyes half closed, she bent her knees and swiveled her hips, lips moving to unheard lyrics in her head.

Emma's own dance technique was not quite as full throttle as she swung her hips to the beat and waved her arms a bit in a noncommittal sort of way. "Looking good, Ruby," Emma heard a male voice say, her eyes scanning the small crowd to find the source. She found it immediately with a tall, thin man with bleached hair that was almost white. He slide past two other dancing people arms up in the air and hands both holding drinks. "I didn't think I'd see you here tonight."

Nonplussed, Ruby turned a shoulder to him and continued her dance, though now with her eyes open and aware. He tried again, slipping past Emma to get in front of Ruby. "You didn't answer my call last time."

"I told you that I'm in a relationship," she said, finally acknowledging him. "Respect that."

"I don't see her here," the man said, thrusting a drink toward her. She smartly ignored it. "Unless you've traded her in on a new model. The man eyed Emma for the first time, his lips twitching into a smile as he did. "Went blonde did you?"

"She," Ruby said, abruptly stopping her dance and gesturing toward Emma, "is a friend. Just a friend." Her arm slid through Emma's. "And even if I wasn't in a relationship, I am not interested in anything with you, Victor. I've learned that lesson."

"And yet I seem to remember…"

"Come on, Emma. Let's go." Ruby wasted no time dragging Emma toward the bar where Mary Margaret was thoughtfully considering a salt shaker as some woman was talking to her in animated fashion.

"Who was that guy?" Emma asked as they stepped away from the colored lights that circled overhead above the dancefloor. "And wait I thought you had a girlfriend?"

"He's a mistake. A sort of low self-esteem decision fueled by alcohol and desperation. He's not a total jerk, but with the right adult beverages he is pretty damn close. Anyway, his name is Victor Whale. He's the doctor here in town." She wrinkled her nose. "I bet there are lots of doctors in Boston, right? Not here. It's freaking Little House on the Prairie. Sprain your ankle, go see Dr. Whale. Pregnant? Go see Dr. Whale. Kidney stones? Cholera? Chicken Pox? God, I hate this place sometimes."

Emma gave a sort of half smile. "Cholera? Really? And believe me, everywhere is a small town when it comes to ex's."

About 50 feet from Emma's mother, Ruby stopped. "I guess you're right. But it seems worse here with everyone knowing everyone. It's suffocating sometimes." She cocked her head to the side. "You realize you're lucky, right? You get to go home and get away from all this. Just come back and visit. You're going to visit? I mean they are your parents."

Emma wasn't completely sure she wanted that type of relationship, but there was something that prevented her from denying it. So wordlessly nodding seemed to be the best substitute. However, even that was cut short as Victor Whale started to head their way. Feeling emboldened and a little annoyed, Emma stepped between him and Ruby.

"Look, Dr. Dolphin or Tuna or whatever your name is. She's not interested. It doesn't matter if you think she's missing out or what. She's not interested. So go lick your wounds and give one of those drinks to one of the women here who might be interested. Granted I hope they aren't spiked with something because that would be a felony. And I don't mind telling you that I will make sure you get thrown in jail and slapped with losing your license. So goodbye, Dr. Flounder."

He smiled weakly at her, taking a sip from one of the umbrella laced drinks. "See, it's fine. I wouldn't drink it if it wasn't. And I just wanted to talk to her."

"See I didn't go to med school, but I do understand communication. It takes two. And she's not interested. So…"

Victor wet his lips to say something else, the clearly leering look of a man not done with his attempt. Emma straightened her posture even more as she readied herself from a new onslaught. What she wasn't expecting was help, especially since she had practically shoved Ruby toward Mary Margaret. The man she had met at Mr. Gold's shop stepped in, his demeanor a quiet confidence that seemed out of place in a bar where there were Viking hats and pool tables.

"I think you need to cool it, Whale," he said, removing the drinks from the man's hand and placing them easily on the tray of a passing server. "You don't want the headache."

Barely acknowledging Emma, Walsh steered the tipsy doctor away and spoke to him rather quietly at a table near the restrooms. She thought she was in the clear and turned away from them, giving Ruby a wave of relief as she went to slide onto the stool on the other side of her mother when the loud crash shattered through the music and conversation. She whirled around on her heel, thankfully not inebriated enough to become sick at the inertia of the move.

Walsh was rubbing his fist, standing partially over a fallen and bleeding Dr. Whale. Emma closed her eyes momentarily as she tried to figure out the best way to stop the fight before it got out of hand. It was in that second that Victor leapt to his feet and threw himself onto the furniture maker and designer. The two threw punches and managed to knock over the table to their left as well as clear a shelf where menus and napkins were stored.

Emma took a step toward them, but Ruby pulled her back. "Wait. Liam's got this."

Sure enough, a broad shouldered man rose over the bar as if it were some sporting event, pulling the two lanky men off each other and hold them both by the scruffs of their neck. He said something that Emma could not hear to both, tossing them easily toward the chairs that still remained upright. Pulling a phone out of his front pocket, he gave a quick nod in Mary Margaret's direction. "David working tonight? I'd wager they did a bit of damage that might need a report."

Mary Margaret blinked as if she didn't realize that anything had happened. "No, it's Killian's night," she managed to say."

"Scarlet. Watch these two wankers, will you? I'm going to call the deputy over here."

***AAA***

Mr. Gold's cane tapped against the stairs as he made his way up to the loft where he had tracked Emma and Henry back to the day before. Clasping the ornately carved handle in front of him with both hands, he used the end to tap on the door and waited for her to answer. If he was at all disappointed when David answered, Leo on his hip and Henry a few feet away having his own dance party, the grandfather showed no signs of it.

"I came to see Miss Swan," he said, tapping the floor with his cane for emphasis. "Perhaps she is upstairs?"

"She's out for the evening," David answered, readjusting his son and patting his backside to see if he needed a diaper change. "You're welcome to…" His thought and sentence broke off as out of the corner of his eye he saw Henry ready to dive off the edge of the couch, calling out something about walking the plank. "Henry!"

He managed to catch him with his free arm, holding it around his middle and turning back to the door. "You can leave her a note. I'd take the message but as you can see…"

"You do seem to have your hands full," the man said, making no move to do anything of the kind. "Perhaps I can track her down later. I believe she might have some information that I need."

David hummed in understanding, though his attention was clearly focused on checking if his son's diaper was leaking while holding Henry back from dangerous acrobatics. He dumped Henry onto the overstuffed chair there by the loveseat, making the little boy giggle and demand a repeat performance. "Again, Grandpa, again!" he chanted.

Mr. Gold paused, looking curiously at the little boy's sandy hair and brown eyes. While a shade lighter than his own son's dark mop, Henry shared many similarities with Neal. "The boy's father? Is he about?"

Drawing in a breath, David looked at Henry and playfully batted at his splayed hands. "Uhhh…no, well I mean…"

"I see," Mr. Gold responded, removing a business card from a silver, monogrammed case. "Perhaps I should leave this. Just in case Miss Swan has trouble remembering how to reach me."

"Sure, okay," David said. "Right there on the dining table should be fine."

"Good night, Sheriff," the man said, strolling carefully to the door. "Don't worry. I can see myself out."

***AAA***

Killian was all business when he arrived, flashing his badge to the bouncer and taking a few notes from Will Scarlet before he questioned Walsh first and then Victor. When he was finished with Walsh, the man removed his sports jacket and walked back over to the bar where the ladies were sitting.

"I do apologize for that scene," he said to Emma, looking slightly disgusted as he flashed his eyes in the direction of the mess that was still on the floor from the brawl. "I'm not usually one for physical violence. But I could tell that you…"

"I can take care of myself," Emma announced, turning on her stool to face Ruby and Mary Margaret.

"I'm sure that you can, but I hate when men can't seem to take no for an answer. I overreacted. And I do apologize for that. I would offer to buy you a drink, but I suppose you would take of yourself by breaking the bottle over my head." He shrugged sheepishly. "So I'll just wait for the deputy to clear me and I'll be on my way."

Emma didn't turn around right away, instead rolling her eyes at Ruby's active and artful eyebrows raising nearly two inches in encouragement. With a resigned sigh, she looked over her shoulder. "You know, I'm almost done with this drink. I suppose I could use another one. I mean I will pay for it, but you could sit here if you want."

"That's smooth," Ruby said under her breath, shouldering into an imbalanced Mary Margaret. "She take after you on that."

Emma ignored both her slurring mother and her flippant friend, motioning to the second bartender to bring another. The same lanky guy who had watched over Walsh and Victor flipped the glass in hand three times and then filled it with the strong concoction. He slid it in front of her and frowned. "You'll be sick by morning if you have that on an empty stomach. You don't have to have the whole meal. Just a nibble will do."

"I'll be fine," Emma assured him, taking as long sip as if to prove her point. Emma's mother half patted her back and half collapsed on her shoulder. "She on the other hand might not be."

Ruby laughed. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Let's get you some water to wash out all that nasty liquor stuff." She tugged her friend back up to sitting.

Mary Margaret's green eyes opened as she blinked rapidly. "I'm not Sleeping Beauty. I'm more like Snow White. You said so because of the bird house thing."

Ruby rolled her eyes skyward, again tugging on the woman's arm. "Yeah, yeah. But look. I'm not Prince Charming. I'm totally not giving you true love's kiss to wake you up." She managed to get Mary Margaret to standing, though the teacher leaned most of her weight on her friend. "You okay with this guy, Emma? I'm going to go splash some water on her face. If that jerk, Will comes back, will you order your mom a soda water? It'll settle her stomach before these drinks come back up on her."

Emma nodded. "Got it." She waved them off as Walsh shifted, clearly amused. "So what are you doing in this place? You can see I got dragged here."

"I suppose just seeing if there was anything interesting about. This town is quite dead usually and rather redundant in terms of people. I appreciate having someone new to talk with and get to know, Emma."

She considered that as she stirred her drink. "And you're sure you're in the clear enough to come share a drink with me while a cop just got done interrogating you?"

He held up his hands as if warding off her question and proclaiming his surrender. "I'm sure that the good deputy will see it my way. I was trying to come to your defense and then had to defend myself against retribution from the doctor." He smiled. "If you could maybe use your persuasive powers on the deputy, I'd appreciate it."

Cocking up one eyebrow, she studied him to see if he was joking. "I don't think so. How do you know I'm persuasive?"

"I just do," he said, leaning forward slightly. "I don't usually try to find a woman after meeting her so briefly. But I have been looking around every place I have been since meeting you at the antique shop. You made an impression, Emma."

"You know I could take that the wrong way and call you a stalker, right?" She pulled back, separating them even more.

"I swear I'm not. I was just curious about you and intrigued by your very presence. You can imagine that Mr. Gold told me nothing noteworthy about you." His smile was pleasant, though a held a bit too long. She saw nothing in his features that screamed out anything but middle of the road kind of guy. His hair was neatly placed on his head, his eyes a muddy shade, and his nose a little long but not grotesque. Still she couldn't help it but compare him to Killian whose eyes were more startling and his features chiseled.

"Not much to tell," she said politely, sneaking a look over his shoulder to where Killian was questioning the doctor. There was no mistaking the confidence in the man as he leaned onto the wall with a bored sort of demeanor and waited for the answer from Victor. She swore she could hear him huff in disgust as he crossed his arms over his chest and tapped a booted foot impatiently. "I'm just visiting for a week. That's all."

***AAA***

The man was boring. That's all there was to it, Emma thought as she shrugged out of her jacket and craned her neck to peer upstairs for a sign that her son was still asleep. The 15 minute walk that he was supposed to escort her on had lasted for nearly three times that long as he pointed out what he called interesting architecture. She did at one point ask if he was an architect or something like it, as she thought it might at least get him talking about school or work. It didn't. He was a furniture designer and infatuated with early American colonials and shingled beach houses that looked worn and weathered but renovated to modern inside. He looked ill when she said she liked Victorians, ranting about the American basterdization of such homes.

She slung the leather jacket onto a hook and sighed, looking at the low light of her parents' bedroom nook. From the shadowy figure she could tell that her father was awake and hopping to slide into a pair of slippers.

"Hey," she said, squinting to see him. "Did Henry…"

"He and Leo are fast asleep," David finished for her. "No problem at all. He's a great kid, Emma. You must be doing something right."

She cupped her hands over the edges of her too long sleeves and gave a half shrug. "Yeah, well…"

"Mary Margaret's not with you?" her father asked. "I thought…"

"Shit," Emma cursed as she reached into her pocket. "Ruby said she'd bring her back here. I swear to God. If she…" Continuing to pat her pocket, she took the three steps back to her jacket and repeated the process. Coming up empty, she frowned. "I left my phone at that bar. And I bet Mary Margaret is sleeping off a stupor while Ruby dances it out."

David pointed in the direction of the door. "Come on. I'll drive."

"And who is going to watch the kids?" Emma asked. "No, I'll just walk back over. Maybe they're already headed this way. Either way, I can get my phone back. Besides, do you really want to go drag your wife home in your sleep pants and t-shirt? Think of your reputation."

"I'm thinking that I'm a horrible father for letting my daughter wander out into the night alone. Who does that?" His mouth turned down and his eyes darted over to the safe where he placed his service revolver every day after work.

Emma took a step back at his parental tone, her hands coming up as if to ward him off. "I don't think now is the time for us to talk about this whole how to be a father to a grown daughter thing. I'm going to head back and get my phone. If I see Ruby and…Mary Margaret, I'll get a ride back with them. It's not a big deal I promise. I'll even be extra careful."

Giving a final thanks for watching Henry, she darted back out. To her relief Walsh was nowhere in sight, as she had briefly wondered if he might stick around. He wasn't that bad, she told herself as she blinked against the chilly wind that smelled of sea water and trees. He wasn't exactly charming, but nice in a safe sort of way. And while she had no thoughts of dating while she was supposed to be getting to know her parents, he was an ok choice for a free meal and probably something pedestrian like a movie. He seemed too practiced though, less than sincere.

"Why do I even bother?" she muttered as she darted across the street after a cursory glance revealed no oncoming traffic. There were only a few cars left at the bar. Ruby's was one of them, but she had promised not to drive since she was under the influence as well. It had not even occurred to her that a bar might close so early, but her eyes landed on a sign that indicated the Rabbit Hole was not going to be open much longer.

The place might as well have been closed, as only three patrons were nursing drinks at tables and looking half asleep in the process. Narrowing her eyes in the low light, she immediately realized there was no sign of her mother or Ruby. They must have found a different way home, as she hadn't seen them on the street.

"Looking for this, lass?" the bartender called out from behind the bar that seemed to be made of weathered ship boards and resembled the plank of a pirate ship. He held up her phone, smirking easily as his co-worker wiped the counter a few feet away. "I realized you left it about five minutes after your mother had left."

Emma had barely let the door close behind her, tilting her head from one shoulder to the other as she hoped the motion would warm the sides of her face and ears. "Thanks," she replied, not knowing what else to say to the man who looked at her as though he found the whole situation humorous. "You said that Mary Margaret and Ruby left?"

"Aye, my brother gave them both a ride after he finished up a few minutes ago. He's a real do gooder sometimes." Liam leaned against the display of bottles, his arms folded across his chest. "Can I get you something? You were drinking a mojito earlier, right?"

"I think so," Emma said, unwittingly taking another two steps forward. "I don't know. Ruby ordered them for me. She said it matched my lipstick or something. I think I'd rather just get a shot of bourbon." She lifted the paper menu from the closest table, dropping it when she saw all the veiled references to Alice in Wonderland. "So who is your brother?"

Liam's smile widened. "I suppose we haven't been introduced. I'm Liam Jones and my brother is…"

"Killian," she said with a deep sigh. "Is everyone in this town related?" Forgetting that she had a preschooler currently at home and two parents who might actually try to come searching for her, she perched on a bar stool and folded her arms on the counter.

"It does feel that way sometimes," Liam acknowledged, holding a bottle out to her. "How bad of a night?" Holding up her thumb and forefinger about two inches apart, she shrugged. "Not too bad then. I thought with you knowing Killian that you might have a greater need for libations tonight, love."

"I'm not going to badmouth a guy to his brother," Emma challenged, watching him expertly pour the drink. "Even if you are a bartender and used to hearing everyone's troubles." He slid the drink across to her and returned to his work turning the bottles so their labels faced outward.

"It may be a small town where we all know one another, but it's still a bartender's job to be part therapist."

She tipped her head back and swallowed the drink that burned in her throat. "And the other part of the job?"

"Oh lots of things, love. Breaking up fights, making sure that beautiful lasses aren't accosted by handsy blokes, and keeping track of lost items." He tossed the phone onto the stack of napkins next to her. "That wanker you left with…Walsh? He didn't get too handsy with you, now did he?"

While she would normally tell a guy to back off and leave her dating life to her, she didn't see anything inherently bad about talking to a guy who sold drinks. "No, not handsy. He's just a little too familiar."

Liam hummed as though he heard that sort of thing before. He probably had. "That can be worse sometimes. An unwanted touch is an invasion that most any sensible person can see, but it's not as intrusive as someone who is trying to get inside your head."

"I don't think that's a crime."

"Not legally, no, but there is still the fact that it can scar you just as much as a knife or other weapon. We protect our bodies all the time, as it's recommended. But think about it. You try to protect your thoughts too. You don't want people to know everything about you. And while nobody faults you for keeping people at arms length or carrying a bit of mace in your purse to ward off predators, it is not as accepted to build walls that keep people out of your psyche."

"You do realize it's a little late to be this philosophical?" She grabbed for the handful of bills in her pocket.

"Don't worry about it, Emma. The drink's on the house, as is the bit of philosophy." He smiled at someone standing behind her and waved. "Now in terms of protecting yourself, I'm going to give you a final bit of advice. Go with my brother. He's back and I'm sure more than happy to drive you home tonight. And before you argue, I'll just say it would put my mind at ease."

She spun on the stool and saw the younger of the two brothers looking almost sheepish there with his coat open and no sign of the chill he had to feel if he was at all human. "Don't you warn people before you sneak up on them?"

He smiled, one side of his mouth climbing higher than the other. "I suppose I've found a surprise attack more helpful in law enforcement, love. And I am on duty tonight."

"And playing taxi driver to all the drunk women?" She folded her arms over her chest, noting that he did not even flinch at her defensive posture. He didn't move any closer, giving her a slight shrug and a tired nod of his head. "Thanks for taking Mary Margaret and Ruby home. Normally I would have done it. Well I guess I haven't been here long enough for normal yet. But usually at home I'm the designated driver or at least walker."

"Quite admirable." He held out a hand toward his brother with a ring of keys on it. When Liam did not reach for them, he threw them, letting them arch through the air and land directly in front of the elder Jones. "Belle said you left these, brother. Try not to be so careless next time? Who knows what kind of miscreants run amok in this town?"

"You've been busy," Liam muttered, pocketing the keys. "Ferrying beautiful women, solving crimes, and seeing my girlfriend?"

"As this lass will tell you from her father's experience, the work of a certified law enforcement officer is never done," he chirped back, winking awkwardly at Emma. "Now if the lady will permit me, I'll escort her home too. Don't need my boss worrying after his daughter."

"I'm capable of getting there myself," she replied, moving to stand up even if she was going to offer a smallish protest.

"And I'm sure you can. You certainly put a bit of fear into the doctor, and I doubt much intimidates you. But it is nighttime and you are new in town. Surely you can let me drive you and alleviate some of your father's concerns as to your safety. He was in a state when I dragged your mother upstairs and sent me in this direction to fetch you." He looped his thumbs through his belt loops. "You can get away with disobeying him, but I am not as lucky."

She tilted her head as she reached into her pocket and dragged out the bills, placing them on the counter. "I don't do free," she told Liam. "Thanks."

"Any time," he replied with a smirk, shaking his head at her with a noticeable about of disbelief at just how standoffish she could be.

She hopped down from the stool, her boots sliding easily on the buffed floor. "I'm only doing this because it's cold outside and I don't want my father lecturing you tomorrow." She marched toward the door, Killian's heavier footsteps telling her that he was right behind. "Let's go."

"As you wish," Killian said, grabbing the door to stop it from flying against the wall as she opened it. "Patrol car's that way."

She didn't let him open the door for her, sinking into the cracked leather of the passenger seat by the time he rounded the hood and slid in beside her. The car was still mostly warm from his earlier drive, but she was still grateful when he cranked it and let the heat blast out of the vents. "Thank you," she said, holding a hand up in front the vent by the passenger window. "You know for taking them home and me."

He nodded, reddening a little. "I was going to say hello to you earlier, but you seemed to be in a conversation with that Walsh fellow."

"Yeah, he walked me home before."

Killian nodded, replacing the radio back into its stirrup and turning a few knobs for the lights and to clear the windshield with the wipers. Throwing it into reverse, he pulled out of the spot and onto the road easily. "I didn't realize you knew him."

"Met him recently," she said, not offering anything else. Her head bounced against the seat as he took a speedbump. "He's pretty talkative. And really proud of what he does."

"I suppose that's a good way to be. The pride part, not the talkative part. We should all enjoy and have a sense of accomplishment." He slowed to a stop as the traffic light ahead turned red. There were no other cars, but he obeyed perfectly.

"Do you like what you do?" Emma asked suddenly, her head whipping toward his direction. "I mean being a deputy."

"Aye, it beats many of the alternatives, though I think your boy would argue that being a pirate would be preferable."

She held her stoic expression even at the mention of her son, though her heart did always warm a little at the thought of him. "I wouldn't know how to become a pirate. It's not like there are job listings for it on Indeed or Monster."

"I would think it is something you are just called to do. Commandeer a ship, find a worthy crew, pillage and plunder, and all that. It sounds quite exciting if not a little lonely." His eyes focused on the road ahead, scanning for signs of danger or just avoiding her. She wasn't sure which it was at that moment.

"I haven't really thought about a pirate being lonely. He's usually got a pretty big crew." She dropped one of her hands to the seat, her finger tracing over the seam in the old leather.

"Aye, but they are paid to serve him and not truly friends. He never knows if they are there out of a sense of loyalty, obligation, or true friendship. It would be quite lonely never knowing if your closest allies are really there for you or not." He slowed the car again, leaning toward the wheel and staring intently at the closed antiques and pawn shop that Mr. Gold ran in the town. "Did you see that?"

"What?" Emma asked, turning toward the same direction. "The shop?"

"I could have sworn there was a light on in there. It's out now." His chest was practically against the steering wheel as he stared so hard that she wondered if he was hoping it might light up again. "Odd."

"Maybe Mr. Gold is working late," she said, relaxing a little despite Killian's intensity. "Is it really that odd?"

"He rarely does. And if he does, he usually keeps the place lit up as if it is open." Pursing his lips, he gave a quick look in the rearview mirror and then slid the car into one of several empty parking spots in front of the shop. "And his car would be here. The man is not likely to walk from his home to this place even in the best of weather."

"So you're going to check it out?"

His hand hesitated over the key. "I could go ahead and drive you back, but…"

"I understand," Emma said, waving an arm toward the shop. "Don't let me stop you."

Her reward was a shy sort of smile that indicated he wasn't all that sure she was going to remain there waiting for him. She half expected him to say goodbye to her, as if he expected she might go ahead and walk back to the loft that was only two blocks away if her memory served. "It'll just take a moment, love. Be back in two shakes."

She studied the darkened windows of the store with her own trained eyes. "It might have just been your headlights reflecting on the windows."

"Perhaps," he agreed, but still unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.

"You don't think so?" she asked leaning across the center console to ask him.

"Variety of reasons, but mainly because I make this drive several times on night patrols. Never seen the light like that."

She nodded, watching him hurriedly round the front end of the car. He peered into a few of the windows, cupping his hand over his eyes to see as much as he could. He'd made it to the corner of the building when she got out and took a few jogging steps to join him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice rising in surprise.

"Helping you," she said with a shrug. "I do have some experience, you know. And if you do find a burglar or something, how are you going to deal with it. From the layout there are two ways out of this place. The front door, which looks to be locked up by the way, and the alley. You may be a great deputy, Killian, but even you can't be two places at once."

He furrowed his brow, looking first at her and then the sidewalk that led to the back alleyway. "I can't let you…"

"You aren't letting me," Emma said as if she expected his argument. "Look, it's simple. You can call my dad for back up and leave my son and brother with my drunk mother. Or we can do this together. It's your call, but I think we both know what's right here."

He opened and then closed his mouth, cutting off his own argument. "You watch the front door," he said, gesturing to it in case she forgot where it was located. "I'm going to check the back. If anything…"

"I'll yell for help after I catch the guy," Emma said with a smile. "I'm not drunk or stupid, Killian. I've caught bad guys before. Now come on. Let's do this."

With a sharp breath, he nodded. His steps were quick as he rounded the corner and headed to the truck service entrance. She watched for only a moment, appreciating his lithe movements and the way his jeans seemed to hug just right below the end of his jacket. Shaking her head at having such a thought, she returned to the front of the building and leaned toward the window to get her own view inside. Only the dim glow of security lights were illuminating the interior, not something one would see from a car. She mimicked Killian's cupped hands and surveyed the inside. Nothing looked amiss from her one visit to the place. The items were cluttered but prominently displayed in mismatched display cases and shelving units. The counter where the antique cash register sat was undisturbed from best she could tell. Curtains leading to a back room were drawn shut, heavy and thick fabric obscuring her view.

She was about to pull away from the windows when she spotted it. The brown, worn leather of a jacket she had seen several years ago. It might have been unremarkable to some, but she remembered the red lining and its hidden pocket that he had sewn into it. It was Neal's jacket, the one he had worn all those years before when they had been together. She remembered the weight of it, the softness of the fabric, the way items seemed to get lost in that pocket and did not show a bulge or blemish to eyes of shop owners. If his jacket was there, so was he.

Feeling mildly nauseated, she backed away from the window and perched herself against the trunk of the car. "Damn it," she whispered.

"Nothing," Killian called to her as he jogged back into view. "Place is locked up tight."

"Yeah," she said weakly before turning her head in his direction. "Everything looks fine inside."

"You sure you're okay, Swan? You look as though…"

"Too much to drink," she said, making a show of placing her hand on her stomach. "Just not used to it, I guess."

He stepped forward with a concerned expression, his hand raising up to touch her shoulder. She didn't pull back so he kept it there. "Do you want me to stop and get you a ginger ale? Maybe some crackers? Seriously, Swan, you look as though I shouldn't let you back in the car."

"I'm fine," she insisted. "Maybe I should walk from here though. You don't need me puking in the patrol car and the fresh air would do me good."

His hand, still on her upper arm, squeezed tightly. "Might be a good idea," he said. "It's just this way."

Finally seeming to realize that he was touching her, she shook off his grip and spun in the direction of the loft. "I can find my way from here. I did find the bar again, remember?"

"I thought we already established that my career hangs in the balance of getting you home safe." He kicked his boot at an invisible rock on the sidewalk. "I may not be scared for you, but I am scared of your father."

She considered that for a moment, the opportunity for a joke there. She didn't take the joke. "Fine. But I really just want to go, okay?"

"Got it." He waved her in the right direction, falling into step beside her.


	6. Chapter 6

The diner was not nearly as crowded as it would be in another hour or so when Emma walked there at about 5:30 the next morning. With a brisk wind making it feel as though there were a thousand shards of ice hitting her face as she crossed the street, she hurried inside and blinked against the harsh florescent lights.

"Morning, Emma," the woman behind the counter said, giving her a once over before responding to the cook's bellow that her order was up. Unlike her granddaughter, Ruby, Mrs. Lucas was the epitome of a small town diner proprietress. Wearing a long skirt, sensible shoes, and a blouse that tied in a bow around her neck, she kept her eagle eyes on the customers and staff alike with her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. An apron around her waist seemed to serve as more pockets rather than protection from the greasy food.

"Good morning," she responded, running a hand through her long blonde hair as she removed the knitted cap.

There were half a dozen empty tables dotting the restaurant, but Emma's eyes were instantly drawn to where a man was sitting alone with a cup of coffee and a precisely folded newspaper. Even though it had been brief, she had seen him look up as she came in and then quickly divert his eyes. That was typical, she thought. She hadn't really been too responsive or even polite to him.

Ignoring her original intent to pick up a few to go breakfast platters, Emma scooted past one of the louder tables of mining employees and stood hesitantly next to where Killian was seated. "Do you mind?"

She wasn't sure if his surprise was genuine or not, but he moved quickly and clumsily to push the newspaper aside and move his cup of coffee toward himself. "Welcome," he said, gesturing to the bench seat across from him. "I wouldn't think you would be up and about so early after last night."

"I recover quickly," she quipped, lacing her gloved fingers in front of her. "So I wanted to talk to you."

"Do you now?" he asked, quirking up an eyebrow. "That's a development I suppose since you have hurried away from me for the past couple of days. Now you're seeking me out."

"Don't make me regret this," she said, her gloved hands splayed out on the table between them. "I thought you might be able to help me."

"Do I get to know what I'm helping you with, love? Or are we leaving that as a surprise?" He took a sip out of the mug that bore a faded logo of Granny's on the side. "I'd rather know what I'm about to do that could jeopardize my job and friendship with David."

"But you'll still do it?" she asked, physically leaning back as if the shock of his agreeing was too much for her. "You'll help me…"

"I was always a sucker for a damsel in distress." He shrugged nonchalantly and pushed the newspaper farther out of reach to indicate his devoted attention.

"I'm not a damsel in distress, but yeah, I want to find someone," she cleared her throat and looked awkwardly toward the menu on the wall. It was one of those that had the little plastic letters and numbers that slid into place on a white background. "Well, I want to track someone down. I don't necessarily want to see him. I just want to know where he is and what he's doing."

She wanted to be encouraged by his lack of an immediate response, but as he studied her over the rim of his coffee mug she was losing hope. Carefully he placed the mug back on the cardboard coaster. "That sounds like it falls more in your line of work, love. What exactly did you want me to do that you can't already do yourself?"

She ran her teeth over her lower lip, dropping her voice as one of the waitresses delivered a stack of waffles to a table nearby. "You know Storybrooke," she said, throwing in a shrug to look more nonchalant. "I know people, but you probably know where someone would be around here if they didn't want to be found."

He sipped again, slightly nodding. "Your father won't help?"

"I haven't asked him," she said sheepishly. "Look, I need to find out about this guy. He's in town and I want to know where, why, and what he's planning. It's not that difficult, but I do need your expertise. If you'd rather not, I understand." Killian rolled his head, tilting toward one shoulder and then the other as he stared skyward. She wondered if he was searching for the right words or even divine intervention. Crumpling her hat in her hand, she shook her head. "No, I get it. You don't want to do it. That's fine."

She was about to slide out of the booth when he reached out to place his hand lightly over her wrist. "Do you normally give up that easily, love?"

"What?"

"You came in here the heartiest of souls, sought me out despite having ignored or practically berated me every time we have met. You just admitted that you are not wanting to tell your father about this quest to find a man that sounds suspiciously like you're stalking. You cannot blame me for thinking it may be some sort of trap." He smiled then, clearly enjoying the way that his assessment was making her nervous. "I took you as someone who was stubborn and diligent. Perhaps I misjudged, but I doubt it. Yes, Emma, I do want to help you. I am simply curious as to the change in your attitude."

Under the table her booted foot tapped mercilessly and she glowered at his hand on her wrist, not that it was unwelcome. It just seemed to her that she should not feel such warmth through her gloves and the sleeve of her jacket. "I need someone who is professional enough to do the job and avoid questions as to why."

He huffed out a small chuckle, pulling his hand back. "That doesn't make you sound any less guilty, but I suppose it will do." He shifted his weight, dropping his shoulders and reaching again for his coffee. "So who is it that we are looking for but not going to speak with or to?"

"Neal Cassidy," she said, waiting on some flicker of recognition from him. Seeing only a glimmer, she swallowed. "Or better known around here as Neal Gold."

"You're stalking Neal Gold? Mr. Gold's son?" He let out a whistle, eyes going wide with surprise. "Do you have a death wish, love?"

"I need to know why he is in town and if he…well, let's start with knowing why he's in town. Now that you know the who, are you still in?"

Killian smirked before turning the mug up for the last bit of the coffee. "I do love a challenge. So where do you wish to start? I don't believe I've ever had a beautiful woman commission me for such a job before. Are we planning to do recon work together, perhaps discuss our findings over a nice dinner with some wine?"

"Now who's setting a trap? I'm looking for professional, remember?"

"Point taken," he said with a chuckle. "Fine then. I'll check a few details I know about Neal and where he might be. Perhaps you were planning to visit your father this afternoon? I could get you the information then and nobody would be the wiser."

She sighed, looking again at the menu. "I'd rather keep my father out of this, Killian. Maybe we could just meet here? That wouldn't seem to out of place."

"Dinner?" he asked, his eyes twinkling as he waved over the waitress to get him a refill and to let Emma proceed with her to go order.

She remained pretty glum, wrinkling her nose. "That might be a bit quick. You sure you can find the information that quickly."

"This stage would be rather quick. It's simply locating him in some of his usual haunts, but if you'd rather…"

"Call me or text me when you find something," she said, making a grab for his phone there on the table next to the newspaper. She added herself to the contacts and dropped it back in front of him. "You have my number now."

She tried to ignore the way he smiled as he scrolled across his screen to confirm her addition while the waitress wrote down her order and made a few clarifications before disappearing back toward the kitchen. He looked so pleased with himself that she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I'll let you get back to your breakfast," she said. "Or is it dinner for you? You have been working all night."

"The lines are a bit blurry, love," he said, pushing the phone into his pocket. "But it seems that you and I have work to do."

"I thought you were going to check with your contacts or whatever and then call me later," Emma said, raising her voice's timbre with suspicion. "You may be good, Killian, but even you have to actually contact them."

"Well the most obvious one is right here," he said mysteriously, waving his hand to indicate their location. "Granny's isn't just a diner. It's a bed and breakfast too. A great many people stay in the guest quarters for days or even weeks. It's possible that Neal chose the most conventional route."

"So you're going to go knocking on doors and waking up guests?" she asked. She was sure that he was good at his job, but that seemed unduly naïve. Perhaps she had chosen the wrong person to help her after all. She simply wanted to get a head's up on Neal, know where he was and what he was planning. It would help her broach the subject of Henry with him and decide her best plan of attack.

"As lovely and time consuming as that would be, no," Killian said, not even pretending to be annoyed by her lack of confidence. "I thought we might ask the proprietress here to give us a head's up."

"I don't want people knowing I'm looking for him," she protested.

"Very well, we'll blame it on me, love." Not waiting for further question or argument, he beckoned to Granny and flashed his best smile in the woman's direction. She shuffled over without delay, wiping her hands on a towel and looking annoyed and curious at the same time.

"Don't tell me you're taking up more time at one of my tables and only ordering a cup of coffee. My staff loves to wait on you, but you're pushing it with an order of less than $5."

He continued his smile, offering to order one of the special egg dishes and letting her yell that back to the kitchen rather than write it down. "So if you might be so kind, Mrs. Lucas. I have a bit of a conundrum."

Her curiosity was completely masked by annoyance at that point. "Go on with it."

"I'm looking for a…a friend of mine. He might have slipped into town recently and booked a room here."

Granny pushed her glasses up on her nose and waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she pursed her lips. "You know you can't just go looking at my books, Killian. The people who stay here don't always want to be found."

"I assure you there is nothing nefarious about it. He's simply an old friend who might wish to stay away from the limelight. I would be happy to leave him as such, but curiosity has the best of me. I simply wonder if he is around." Again his dimples flashed with his smile that could penetrate through most walls, Emma decided. Even when the older woman huffed again, the look did not slide from his face.

"I don't buy it," she said, looking back to Emma. "Your father hired a doozy with this one."

Holding up his hands and revealing his palms to the older woman, he gave a sort of head tilt of shame. "You caught me, Mrs. Lucas. The bloke owes me a bit of money over a friendly from a few months back. I thought if you could confirm his whereabouts I might have a word with him about welching on a bet."

The lines around her mouth deepened as she pressed them together firmly. "Name?"

Killian's smile brightened in recognition of getting that far. "Neal," he supplied, waiting on her to respond. "Gold's son."

"Nope," she answered quickly, picking up the empty mug from the table and taking a full two steps back. "He wouldn't be dumb enough to stay here if he's avoiding his father." She looked over her shoulder and back at Emma. "He owe you money too?"

"No," Emma said with a laugh she hoped would not sound out of place or nervous. "I am just waiting on my breakfast."

Granny's response was more of a grunt as she turned toward the kitchen and shouted a few things. "Coming right up," she told Emma. "Keep your eyes open around this one. He's always got an agenda."

"You wound me, Mrs. Lucas. And here I was about to open my heart up to you." Killian's sarcasm fell on deaf ears as she scooted away to stop one of her servers from providing extra servings to one of the customers.

"She could tell Mr. Gold that we are looking for his son," Emma hissed, leaning forward so he couldn't say that he didn't hear her. "I thought you'd be better at this."

"Granny is unlikely to talk to that man in casual conversation. But if it makes you feel better, I believe she does think it is about me and not you."

"Look, just be careful. I don't need…" She stopped, accepting her order from the server. "Call me if you find anything."

"As you wish, love," he told her, sliding the newspaper back in front of him. "Talk to you soon."

***AAA***

David was awake by the time she got back, muttering to himself as he poured water into the coffee maker. "Do you ever sleep?" he teased, squinting at the small numbers on the machine. "You got in late and are out early this morning."

"I was hungry," Emma said, lifting the brown paper sack onto the counter of the island. "I don't really know my way around your kitchen so I thought I'd pick up breakfast at that diner. You like the platters there, right?"

David nodded, unfolding the bag and digging out the containers. "Wow, I think you overestimate our love of breakfast," he said, laughing. "Leo and Henry probably won't eat a full plate together. And your mother, well, I'm thinking she's not exactly going to be hungry given the size of the hangover she's probably sporting."

"It'll heat up later," she answered sorting the condiments and napkins as she spoke. "Henry's still asleep?"

"Yeah, the kid's like a rock. Although I'm not sure rocks sleep. He hasn't moved from the position he was in about six hours ago. You've got a good kid there. I had a good time with him last night." He looked toward the stairs as if expecting the boy to appear just by mention of him. "I can't wait until Leo's old enough to do that kind of stuff."

Emma gave a sort of proud grin at the compliment about her son. "He's getting to be a lot of fun. Most days I can't wait to see him or talk to him. He tells the funniest stories and has the craziest ideas."

David reached over to place one of the containers in front of her and took one for himself. "I know this didn't come out the way we meant it yesterday, but I really am proud of you. You're a good mother and have been raising a great kid. I know it hasn't been easy."

She moved a piece of cooling toast off of her eggs. "I try not to think of our situations being similar, you know." Raking her fork through the eggs she thought he might answer. He didn't. "It was an option. I know it was. I just couldn't do that because I knew the other side."

"Was it that bad?" he asked, interrupting her after he chewed a bit of the bacon. "Living in foster care? That's why you kept him, right? It was so bad that you didn't want him to live like that?"

She looked down at her plate and grimaced. "There were good homes. And some that royally sucked. But yeah, I didn't want him to know that. I didn't want him to live like he didn't ever really belong and worry about being sent away again."

It was his turn to grimace. "I wouldn't…Emma, I'm sorry. Maybe that doesn't mean a whole lot, but I am. I never meant for you…"

A loud groan echoed through the loft and both father and daughter hid their smirks that it appeared Mary Margaret was rising from the dead. Moments later she appeared, short hair standing up straight in a mess of tangles and her pallor dotted with red from her awkward sleeping position.

"Good morning," David said, his voice barely registering above a whisper. "You're up…"

She moved her hand like a sock puppet to tell him to shut up, dragging her sock covered feet on the floor and barely opening her green eyes. "Who cooked?" she mumbled, breathing in through her nose. Her face flushed and then turned an odd shade of sallow green. "Oh God…"

David glanced apologetically at Emma. "Let's get you back to bed. We'll try some…"

Bolting from the room, Mary Margaret skidded in her socks on the floor and barely made the turn into the bathroom on the first floor. Looking just as pained as his wife, David rose to go check on her, but Emma stopped him. "I feel sort of responsible for that," she said, taking one more bite. "You handled the kiddos and I take on her, okay?"

His own face turned slightly green at the sounds he heard. "I'm not going to argue that one."

About half an hour later, Emma had pulled the covers up on her mother and left water and aspirin by the bed. Her father smiled at her as she re-entered the room to find her breakfast warming in the oven and her son pretending to read a book to her baby brother and David. "Looks like you have it under control," she said, waving a fork at him. "Impressive."

"Your phone's been vibrating over there. I didn't think you'd have time to stop and take a call though."

A quick thumb across the screen revealed two missed calls from Killian and one from August. There was also a text from Killian. "Yeah, no biggie," she said, gingerly touching the container of food because it was so hot. "It was just…" The screen flashed and the phone vibrated again. "Walsh." She sighed. She hadn't really considered him calling again, as she was not even fully sure she remembered giving him the correct phone number. Pressing the word dismiss, she let it go to voice mail.

"This guy Walsh called that many times?" David asked, giving Henry a little pat on the head to make up for not listening to him with rapt attention. "Didn't you just meet him?"

"Ummm…yeah…I mean we did just meet. He asked for my number last night. The other calls were from some other people." She squinted back at him. "Killian and a friend of mine from Boston…"

"Wait, Killian is calling you. As in my deputy? As in the guy I told to stay away from my daughter? He's calling you?" Henry stopped his telling of the story he had heard Emma read to him dozens of times. "I'm going to kill him."

"You told him to stay away from me?" She pointed her thumb at herself in case he didn't know who she was talking about with that simple question.

David looked uncomfortable as he lifted Leo off his lap and stood abruptly. "Emma, you're my daughter. He's my employee. I can't…why is he calling you?"

Emma puffed out a sharp breath, blinking her eyes rapidly at him and wanting to ask why he was daring to dictate who might call her or not. "You told him to stay away from me? Why? Is there something I should know? Is he a serial killer? A liar? Both?"

"No, he's a good guy," David said rather reluctantly. "It wasn't about that. I just didn't want him to make you uncomfortable and then you not want to come back to visit again. Emma, it's not that I…"

"You think I'm going to run?" Emma asked, scrambling to her feet too. "You don't want to make things awkward at work or have me avoiding him and unwilling to come back here. I'm not even interested in him that way. I…we're talking about something else entirely. And you're…"

"I'm sure that you're not interested in him that way, but I can't say the reverse is true. Emma, I know Killian. He's not as confident and sure as he likes to pretend he is in life. I'm not saying you would hurt him somehow…I was just looking out for both of you."

"You're not making this better," Emma said, rolling her eyes. "Killian and I are both adults. If we want to see each other, that's up to us." Her phone vibrated in her hand and dinged sharply. Looking down she saw a short message from Killian asking if she was ghosting him out and had she given him the wrong number on purpose. She felt her lips turn up at his blunt question that did echo her father's claim that maybe he wasn't quite as self-assured as he would have people believe. "But I'm not here to meet a guy or anything like that. I'm here to get to know my parents. Isn't that what we all wanted?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know what to say other than to apologize. You're right. I guess I just don't know how to do this whole being a father to an adult daughter thing." He held his hands up in a mock surrender. "Answer him. He's probably going nuts waiting for you to say something. I'm going to get cleaned up for work. You good here?" The day's plans were a bit askew with Mary Margaret's hangover and her brother and son sitting there expectantly. "If you're needing time alone, Ashley's number is over there on the bulletin board. She runs a daycare and can…"

She bit her lip as she clutched the phone even tighter. "Thanks," she said, swiping her thumb across the screen again. "And you know, you're not really that bad at the whole dad to a grown daughter thing."

"I'm not?"

"Yeah, it's kind of nice to have someone worry about me. I'm not used to it. But it is nice."

His hands found a home near his belt, rocking backwards a little. "I could assign you a curfew or ask to meet all your friends. I could ground you or take away your phone privileges."

She chortled, her head bobbing back and forth as if considering his offers. "I think we'll stick with the caring and worrying right now."

***AAA***

"Swan," Killian said into his phone about three seconds after it bleated to life. He should have been asleep. After 24 hours of working, he was due at a least a nap. And while he had managed to switch the phones over to the service until Tink arrived, he was still too full of adrenaline to be of much use. "Do you ever answer your phone? What's the bloody point of telling me to call you if you never answer?"

"Sorry," she said, her voice muffled for a second with what he did not want to picture was her putting on a shirt or sweater. The last thing he needed was to consider her state of undress on the other end of the phone. "I was taking care of my mother's hangover, then Henry decided to do toothpaste art in the bathroom, and then my brother decided to make me think he'd stuck a piece of cereal up his nose only for me to find it stuck to his leg. It's been a morning."

"Quite the tale there, love." He propped himself up on one elbow, looking out the window at the gray but dry day outside. "I may have a lead on Neal."

"Seriously? Already? I thought it would take much longer than this." She sounded nervous, almost frantic. "Where is he?"

"Well, I don't know for sure. But I do know that someone who sounds an awful lot like him was at the library last night."

She was quiet, save for a brief moment when she covered the phone and said something to her son who was singing loudly with some cartoon. He couldn't help but chuckle at the mental sight of her and Henry, appreciating the simple relationship they seemed to have. "The library? Are you sure? Neal's not exactly the reading type, if you know what I mean."

"Aye, as far as I know he never was," Killian agreed, flopping back down against the pillows and wondering why he felt as nervous as he had at 13 when he asked some classmate named Molly to a dance at school. She'd said no and he'd done the age old trick of pretending he'd never liked her anyway.

"I forget how small this town is," Emma sighed. "You know him too?"

"Sort of," Killian vaguely explained. "I knew his mother." He closed his eyes though he hardly needed to in order to envision Milah. The woman had burned herself into his psyche though he wasn't naïve enough to turn their brief relationship into something of myths and fairy tales. She had been a lonely and oppressed woman and mother when he met her. And despite her divorce and a lengthy custody battle that she lost, she had been hopeful about a future someday with her son. It would never come though. She'd lost her life in an act of violence that should have sent her ex-husband away for the rest of his life. She'd paid a price that seemed to offer nothing but pain to those who knew her.

Emma remained quiet for a moment. "So the library?"

"Yeah, Belle is his father's estranged wife. I never knew them to be close, but perhaps he turned to her. Emma, I hate to ask but perhaps you should give me a little background here. Why are we seeking this guy out? And what the bloody hell am I supposed to do when I find him?"

"That's a long story," Emma said with a sigh.

His free arm folded over his face and he listened to her breathe for almost a minute. "You know you can trust me enough to tell me, right? I wouldn't blab to your father or anything."

"I should hope not since he told you to stay away from me," she laughed sarcastically.

"You know about that?"

"Yeah, he sort of let it slip today. Don't worry about it. I set him straight and we had a good laugh. It's fine. So Belle is our best contact on this?" She made a bit of a strangled noise. "I guess I know her well enough to call and ask."

"No worries, love. She's been sort of close with my brother. I will ask her as soon as I get a bit of sleep or you explain to me what exactly is going on with Neal. Whichever comes first. You nixed it the first time, but it could make for interesting dinner conversation."

She rolled her shoulders back and stretched to reach the toy duck her brother had thrown out of his reach. The tears that had threatened to fall from his eyes disappeared with the quick gesture. "I'm not going to dinner with you. I'm here visiting my parents. Dinners with them are kind of the rule."

"Perhaps a drink then? You know, I do know the finest bartender in Storybrooke."

She sank down onto the couch, resting her head against the throw pillow that said something philosophical about true love and totally appropriate for her parents. "I think I'm going to avoid drinking. How about I…" She peeked over the edge of the pillow at where her son sat on the floor with a puzzle in front of the television. Even though she had lowered the volume to a decibel appropriate for her mother she could make out some of the conversations on screen. A commercial was playing with a singing ice cream cone dancing about to some song about double and triple scoops.

"Swan, I do know how to plan a date."

"It's not a date," she said quickly. "I'm just agreeing to meet with you and give you some background. I don't date." She pulled herself back up to sitting. "Meet me at the docks at 3:30."

"The docks?" he asked, again peeking out the crack in his curtains to the gloomy outside. "Are you sure about that? If you're worried about…"

"3:30 at the docks. And tell me, do you like rocky road?"

***AAA***

Killian guessed from her question that she planned on ice cream, but he did not expect her to come with a toddler and preschooler in tow, as well as a carton of ice cream with four bowls and spoons. "Yeah, so I thought cones, but I only have two hands and these guys keep these hands pretty busy."

"Then by all means let me serve," he teased, giving her son a sort of high five welcome and adjusting Leo's hat that kept falling in his eyes. "It might be warmer on the Jolly over there."

"The Jolly?"

"Aye, my brother and I have been restoring her. She's not quite the beauty we planned yet, but she's got good bones. And she'd keep us out of this wind."

Emma switched her brother from one hip to the other, looking at Killian with an incredulous sort of wonder. "You named your boat after Captain Hook's ship?" She might should have spelled out the words in that sentence because Henry immediately perked up and was screaming something about pirates.

"Well, she's only mine temporarily and came to us with that name. It's not traditional, but I thought it was fitting. Anyway, she's just over here." Grabbing her bag with the ice cream and utensils, he managed to wrangle her son into walking along side of him and led the way to a solid eyesore of a boat. To Henry it was the grandest ship ever, the boy making pirate noises and scrunching his face up into his meanest expression as he began to pretend.

"Let's be off with ya," Killian echoed, showing them the ladder like stairs that led down below. "Can't be having anyone getting scurvy now can we?"

Emma couldn't help but smile as Henry repeated the new word after Killian, trying his best to make a good pirate. Even Leo, who was hardly the friendliest of little ones, was laughing at the antics and bouncing in her arms. "I thought you were on my side," she sighed, ducking her head to miss the hanging light over the table.

Killian continued to fuss about for a moment, taking time to show Henry a few of the features like the small refrigerator and a port hole window that offered a small view that fascinated him. She barely noticed that he put water into a kettle and placed it on the two burner stove to warm.

"What's that for?" she asked, unearthing the bowls and spoons first. "Tea time? You miss England that much?"

He looked slightly uncomfortable as he scooted in next to Henry who had decided that he just had to draw out a treasure map on one of the paper towels. At Killian's encouragement, he had what Emma hoped was a washable marker and was making squiggly lines on the textured surface. "Your father mentioned something about you liking hot chocolate. I guess I thought…"

She grinned, tapping the frozen container with one of the spoons. "Probably a better idea than ice cream when it is so cold that I halfway expect to see snow."

He took the spoon from her, letting his hand slide over hers just long enough for her to wonder if he did that with some sort of purpose. "So is this your favorite flavor, Emma?"

"Yeah, Henry and I usually get cones during the summer at this place near where we live. It's a tradition." Winking at her son, she got no response as he continued to draw with his tongue sticking out from between his lips.

"And you are sharing this tradition with me? I'm honored, Swan."

She pulled her brother's knitted cap up by the ball atop it, half hugging him as she considered the man's enthusiasm. "Well, you should feel special. I don't usually share family traditions, you know?"

"I am appreciative. So you wanted to meet. Am I going to hear why I spent this afternoon trying to get security tapes that would show this bloke outside the library? It's no big deal. I don't' need to actually sleep or anything."

He filled the first bowl part way and gave it a little push toward her so that she could give it to Leo. Doing the same with one for Henry. He had filled hers too by the time she spoke. "So he and I used to be together. We dated."

"I thought you didn't date," Killian said, starting to fill a bowl up for himself. The plastic spoon barely sliced through the frozen treat but he worked at it. "Is he perhaps the reason you don't?"

"That would explain it all, right? I have a broken heart so I push everyone away." She dug her spoon into the ice cream and then shoved it into her waiting mouth.

"That's a bit too cut and dry, but maybe it has a kernel of truth in it. Is your heart broken?"

Henry was alternating between his map and his ice cream, occasionally looking up to the conversation that he was not old enough to understand or repeat. "Broken? Mommy did you get broken?"

"Mommy's fine," Emma assured him, taking another bite and instantly regretting it when the head pain hit from eating too fast.

"A broken heart isn't necessarily a bad thing, love. If it's broken, it means that it still works. That's good, right?" He dug into the ice cream again, taking a long bite that she might have thought was just him showing off if she wasn't blinking back the pain in her head.

"Well, whatever he did or didn't do doesn't really matter now. I need to know where he is."

The spoon was still in Killian's mouth as he rose to silence the screaming kettle and dig out the instant chocolate for their drinks. Removing it, he waved it in the air as if he was some sort of professor. "You know most exes stick to looking at each other's Facebook profiles or asking old friends what they know. If you want to see if he's with someone, there are easier ways."

"I don't give a crap if he is with someone. I just…He's too close, okay? I need to make sure I'm protecting myself and my son. Got it?"

Killian carried over the supplies for the drinks and picked up Henry's discarded marker to make a few more marks himself. "It sounds pretty dangerous. Did he do something to you, Swan? I mean are we talking about…"

"We're not talking about anything like that," she interrupted. "And we certainly wouldn't in front of my son. I just need to know things about him so I can make sure we're not having to deal with him on his terms."

He watched her sprinkle cinnamon in her drink quite liberally. "You can tell me, Emma. I can help."

She kept her eyes down on the drink that sat in front of her, not moving, not drinking it, not even speaking. The only sound for the time being was a sneeze from her son and the occasional kick of her brother's small shoes on the underside of the table. "I came to Storybrooke to see and get to know my parents. I wanted Henry to have family, you know. Get to know his grandparents. But see it was a weird coincidence, but Mary Margaret and David aren't his only relatives here."

"Neal's his…"

"Yeah," Emma said, looking up for the first time in a while. "He took off and left me to face some jail time because of…it doesn't matter. Anyway, I found out in jail that I was pregnant. So he still doesn't know."

Killian rescued Henry's ice cream from the edge of the table before he sent the melting substance all over the place. "And you want to tell him."

"I want…I don't know. I have his phone number. I could call. But then I…" She bit down on her lip and placed her fingers on either side of her temples. "I don't know how to have that conversation. And I need to know that if I have it, he won't do anything like take Henry from me."

 **A/N: So yes, Emma has been pushing Killian away. Since this is a CS fic, that wasn't going to last forever. It's also not the end of her pushing people away. One step forward, two steps back. Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	7. Chapter 7

**_A/N: Thank you all for your great comments, questions, and suggestions here on this story. I really do appreciate them. Please note that the backstory Emma is sharing about Neal is going to only come out in pieces and maybe seem a little convoluted at first. While she made the leap to ask Killian for help – something we will be addressing soon – she isn't exactly a trusting person. She's not going to reveal everything all at once._**

Mary Margaret stacked up the magazines and various pieces of mail, carrying them back to the bedroom in an effort to straighten up the loft a little before her stepmother arrived. There was a roast in the oven, potatoes cooking, and a vegetable medley bubbling away.

"I picked up the stuff for a salad," David announced, kicking the door shut with his foot. "Want me to…" He stopped midstep and midsentence, seeing his wife worrying over a pillow on one of the armless chairs. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she answered distractedly. "I just hope this is not too much for her."

Continuing on his route to the kitchen, David dumped the bag onto the counter and threw his jacket over the back of a chair. He was already warming the water in the sink to wash his hands when he cocked his head to look at her again. "I've never known Regina to be overwhelmed."

The teacher punched the pillow she was fussing over, pursing her lips angrily at its noncompliant state. "I meant Emma. She's never met her before and well…you know that Regina can be somewhat intimidating. Maybe we made a mistake telling her about Regina being the one to encourage us to place her for adoption. That's going to be awkward."

Having washed his hands, David made a grab for a knife and cutting board, getting started on the chopping. "It was the truth. Would you rather she think that we decided that on our own? I don't know about you, but I'm not proud of that decision and don't think I'd have made it if Regina hadn't pretty much insisted and told us we'd be raising her on our own with no money, no education, and no opportunities." The knife clacked against the bamboo board loudly. "Regina made us both believe we weren't capable."

Mary Margaret carried over the bowl for the salad and started rinsing everything off. "We weren't, David. We weren't ready. We were kids playing adults. Emma would have…"

"Had a better life than she did," David muttered. "We couldn't have known what would happen, but I still feel guilty. She…she gets this haunted look in her eyes whenever the topic comes up. It's not easy for any of us to face or talk about, but I think we need to talk about it. I think we need to figure out a way to come to some sort of new normal for her."

Mary Margaret stared sadly at the leafy green lettuce she was tearing. "I wouldn't know what to say, David. I am sorry for this. All of this. If only…" She threw a few of the torn leaves into the bowl. "She's raising Henry all on her own. From what we know she didn't even go to Mr. Gold for help. And Henry's father doesn't seem to have been around. I don't know the details, but she is doing amazingly well as a single mom. I don't know that I could have been that strong or brave."

"I think you could have. She must have gotten that strength from somewhere." He braced his hands on the counter, holding it tightly. "I love you, Mary Margaret. And I love our son. But I really think we need to use this time with Emma to figure out how to get her to understand we're here for her and love her. She needs that. She needs to know that she has people in her corner."

"Of course. She left a note by the way. I was still napping and she left a note saying she took the boys for ice cream. They'll be back soon."

"Alone?" He scraped the freshly cut radishes, cucumber, and carrots in with the lettuce and set to work on a tomato next.

Mary Margaret rested her chin on the palm of her hand as she watched him. "I don't really know. Her note didn't mention anyone else. You don't think she's seeing someone, do you?"

David seemed to take his frustration out on the tomato, eyeing it with suspicion. "Killian's been sort of sniffing around here, talking to her, asking about her. He drove you home last night and then drove back to pick her up – at my request but still. Then I find out that he has her phone number and is calling her and texting her. And I don't know her that well, but I get the sense she's not completely opposed to the attention if you know what I mean."

Humming her acceptance of that news, Mary Margaret darted her free hand out to steal one of the diced tomato bits. "She is a pretty woman, David. And Killian is a single, good looking guy. I don't think it's that strange that they might be interested in each other."

"She's beautiful," David half-heartedly corrected. "And I told him to stay away from her…but I sort of told her about that and she said she would see who she wanted." He let his eyes glance back over at his wife's finding her bemused smile to be annoying when he wanted sympathy and someone to rage with about the unfairness of it all. "What?"

"You actually tried to convince him to stay away from her? You do realize that probably just encouraged him." She kicked one leg over the other. "Rookie mistake there, dad."

He grunted, pointing the tip of the knife in her direction. "I'm not the one who got drunk with our daughter last night." He chuckled. "And left her alone with Ruby? Did you think that was a good idea?"

"Ruby is a good friend and a loyal ally. Emma would be lucky to have more people like her in her life." She frowned. "So if she's seeing Killian, what about the guy from the bar who walked her home?"

He thought about telling her that he didn't want to gossip, but he was dying to figure this all out too. Returning to his work and then rinsing the knife before dicing some onion, he sighed. "Okay so I gather that some guy named Walsh, apparently a vendor of Mr. Gold was there at the bar last night? He seems to be interested in her. She ignored his call earlier, but she must have given him her number so who knows."

Mary Margaret grabbed a piece of carrot this time. "I sort of remember him. He was weird. I'm rooting for Killian."

"Mary Margaret!" he hoarsely shouted. "You do realize that if she starts dating one of these guys and it goes pear shaped that we are going to have one hell of a time getting her to visit again."

"And what if it doesn't go pear shaped? She could fall in love with a nice guy right here in this town. She could move here, David. We'd see her and Henry all the time. There would be weekly family dinners and school assemblies we'd get to go to as grandparents. T-ball games and band concerts. It would be wonderful to have them so close all the time."

He dumped the last of the vegetables in the salad bowl and turned the tongs over to her to toss. "And that would come with Killian being around," he said as if bestowing some heavy warning on her. "Are you ready for that?"

"I like Killian. And so do you."

"Ehhh," he said, waving his hand in a so-so sort of motion. "I like him better as my friend and deputy. It's easier to imagine it won't work out. And she'll be avoiding him and us."

"We need to have hope," Mary Margaret said, sounding like she was talking about an ingredient for the salad rather than their daughter's potential dating life. "Happy endings always begin with hope."

***AAA***

"Thanks for the ride," Emma said, unfolding herself from the passenger seat and reaching in to grab her son and brother. The car didn't have the required safety seat equipment, but the drive was short and preferable to walking again. "I really do appreciate your help."

"Need a hand wrangling them?" Killian asked, pulling his phone out of his pocket and giving the screen a cursory glance. "I wouldn't mind, you know."

She narrowed her eyes, lifting Leo to her side and wiggling her fingers to beckon Henry outside. "If you are expecting anything in return for all the favors, you should know I'm horrible about paying people back."

"Not even keeping track, love," he said, lifting her reluctant son out of the car and setting him upright with a little nudge. "Besides, it appears your lovely mother is feeling sociable again. She invited me to dinner."

"Seriously?" Emma asked, tweaking her brother's reddening nose with her gloved hand. "Like tonight wasn't going to be awkward enough with me meeting my step-grandmother."

Darting ahead a few steps, Killian opened the door for them, laughing softly as Henry mimicked his movements to gesture Emma inside. "Ahhh…Regina. She's a sight. That's for sure. Runs this whole city like she's a monarch and we're all her lesser subjects."

"Sounds wonderful," Emma muttered, waiting until Killian was inside and the door was closed so they walked together up the stairs to the second floor. "I'm not hearing too many good things."

Killian seemed to ponder that for a moment, using his own body to block Henry from running off in the wrong direction. "Must be something good about her. They keep electing her mayor."

"And you want to spend your evening off with her and my crazy family?" Emma asked, patting her pocket for her keys that her parents had told her to keep. "I'm stuck going since this is all about me meeting her, but you…"

"While I do appreciate your parents' company and cooking, I think it best I go see Belle to get the story from her about where Neal is right now. But I did want to thank your lovely mother for the invitation."

"Oh," she said, trying not to look too disappointed. "That's a good idea. Maybe she'll tell you the truth if she's seen him or not. I'm kind of wanting to get this settled sooner rather than later."

He stopped on the landing, blocking the way for Henry to run back down the stairs as she finished fishing out her keys. "I could call her," he said suddenly. "I mean I could call her before dinner and get a feel for what she knows. Maybe…"

"You could stay for a little while," Emma suggested. "I mean if you wanted to that is. Henry would like the company and you guys seem to get along." Her son seemed to think that Killian was playing a game by blocking his escape. Each time Henry moved to run down the stairs, Killian would shift his body. That made Henry giggle wildly. "Mary Margaret did invite you, after all."

"I don't want to impose."

She fit the key into the lock and sighed. "If I had a problem with it, I'd tell you. Haven't we already established that I don't have boundaries when it comes to shutting you down?"

There was no way she heard his response over the screech Leo let out at seeing his mother and father or the tornado that was Henry running between her legs and into the apartment as if he had something very important waiting for him. She practically lost her balance and felt Killian offer a steadying hand to protect her.

It was David who lifted his son out of Emma's arms, holding him high and inspecting him like he hadn't seen him in years. "There's my boy," he said about three times before cradling him to his chest. "Killian? I didn't realize you were coming over." Not waiting for an answer, David in his blue flannel and faded jeans was part way to the kitchen before Killian's mouth even opened.

"I wasn't planning on it, but your wife invited me. A meal here is better than any of the scraps my brother or I could cook up without going to the store first."

"She did?" David asked, silently asking his wife for confirmation over their son's head. Mary Margaret simply smiled as she checked the status of the potatoes.

"I was hoping you'd make it, Killian," she said, clapping her hands together excitedly. "You know David and I always make enough to feed half the neighborhood."

Emma made an awkward stumble step toward Henry, pulling his coat off of him and directing him to go grab one of the books before he made a mess. But Henry was more about asking Killian what sound did a boat make and trying to imitate it as he "sailed" around the living room. She glanced at Killian apologetically. "You can make that phone call upstairs in my room if you want," she said, stepping between Henry and Killian to block her son's view and hopefully attention. "I doubt you'd be able to concentrate down here."

"We aren't keeping you from something, are we?" David asked, his voice sugary sweet but his eyes suspicious as his deputy shifted from one foot to the other and then massaged along the side of his neck. "Because we could do dinner another night if you're busy."

"No, mate. I just need to make a phone call and check out a lead. If you'll excuse me…" He didn't wait for an answer, giving Emma quick grin and bounding up the stairs toward the direction she had pointed. Once Emma heard the door close, she whirled around toward her father.

"You didn't know she invited him?"

"Nope, seems my wife and my daughter are determined to see me be social with the guy." He rocked his son a little and then placed him down with one of the board books that Mary Margaret insisted were great for language and cognitive development. Leo threw it.

"Come off it, David," Mary Margaret said, handing him a stack of plates to start setting the table. "You're always hanging out with Killian. He was here last week after you guys went fishing together. Then there was the boxing match you watched together on television. Didn't you meet for beers a few weeks ago? You liked him just fine until…what did you call it? Oh right when he started making eyes with Emma."

Emma tilted her head. "We don't make eyes at each other," she protested loudly.

"I should hope not," a new voice to the conversation. "Public displays of affection are so gauche."

Emma turned to see a woman wearing what could only be described as a sensible and tailored pantsuit with a satiny blouse underneath. The shirt's neckline plunged and revealed a tasteful gold chain with a pendant of a horse. The woman had dark hair and a olive complexion that gave the appearance she had just come off weeks at a beach resort sipping umbrella drinks in the sunshine.

"You must be Emma," the woman said, not extending a hand since she was holding a covered dish that was clearly weighing more than it looked like it could. "I'm Regina."

Mary Margaret scooted past everyone to grab the dish, her smile only half as bright as it had been when she greeted Emma and Killian earlier. "Regina, I'm so glad you could make it. And you brought…"

"Dessert," the woman supplied. "I brought an apple turnover dish my mother swore by and I make for friends. I thought about wine, but that seemed a bit much for dinner here."

Ouch, thought Emma as she watched the woman glide past Leo and Henry and hand her coat to David without explanation or question. Hoping she wasn't leaving her mouth gaping at the woman's audacity, she followed and dug into the silverware drawer to help her father set the table.

"I'm glad you could join us," Mary Margaret was saying, lifting a corner of the baking dish's lid to catch a whiff. "This smells incredible, Regina. I know we'll all love it."

"Of course," Regina said, extending a manicured finger toward the table. "Why are there six plates and a high chair? Did you have another child I don't know anything about?"

Emma caught sight of her father, muttering under his breath as he dug into a cabinet for glasses. It was clear that he wasn't exactly the biggest fan of his step-mother-in-law. She felt her respect for him in that regard grow since she had yet to get a warm and fuzzy feeling from the woman. Weren't grandmothers supposed to be plump old women with candy in their pockets and stories about old times?

"No, Regina," her mother said calmly in a voice that was probably one she used in the classroom. "Killian, you know, David's deputy, he's joining us for dinner too."

The woman scoffed, circling the island and peering down into the pot with the potatoes. She picked the spoon up from the counter and gave the salty and murky water a stir. "I didn't know we were bringing strays. Zelena would have been overjoyed to join us."

Emma took a cue from her mother's pained expression and chimed in with her own question. "Who's Zelena? More relatives?"

"She's my sister," Regina explained, giving Mary Margaret a glare that said she should have better prepared Emma for at least understanding the not that interesting family tree. "Half sister, actually."

"Oh," Emma said, removing a few bottles of juice and wine from the refrigerator for her father. "So that makes her what? My step-great-aunt? Wow! That's not a relative that I thought I'd have." Emma wasn't sure she even wanted relatives, especially those who were only that by an oddly conceived marriage. But it seemed a conversation starter.

"You wouldn't want to count her," David muttered behind her. "She's a bit on the psychotic side."

Emma nodded to her father and backed away. "I'm going to go make sure Henry and Killian are both alright," she said, though no one heard her over Regina's loud and somewhat sincere defense of her only sibling. While Henry was just fine with his book and younger uncle, Killian was still upstairs. She ran up the steps nearly two at a time, not sure if she was escaping or anxious to know his answer.

"Anything?" she asked when she entered her room and found him perched at the end of her dresser. His head was tilted down to view his phone screen and his lips were moving as if reading.

"She hasn't seen or heard from him in at least a year. If you believe that."

"Do you?" Emma asked, having to sit on the bed or stand since there wasn't really any other place. "I'm usually good at judging when people are lying, but I don't know Belle that well yet. So what do you think?"

"I've never known her to lie like that," Killian said after a brief pause where he seemed to consider his answer carefully. "She's quite brilliant, and kind. She did ask a curious thing though. She wanted to know if I was asking because you and Henry were here. I understand that talking about this is difficult for you, but I'm putting myself out there for this. Does she know that Henry is Gold's grandson?"

"I would assume so, yes. Mr. Gold does know. And Neal would except…" Tracing over the stitching in the floral quilt on her bed, Emma closed her eyes. "So here's the thing," she said lowly. "I had every intention of telling Neal and his family about Henry. That was the plan even after he left me holding the bag on some watches he stole. When Henry was born I had about eight weeks left in a minimum security facility in Arizona. My case worker pulled some strings and got me placed in a halfway house with him earlier. I had thought that Neal would be out there waiting. I mean I did the time for a petty crime that he orchestrated. But he never showed up. I searched the internet, asked people, and did all sorts of research to find Neal Cassidy."

"He just left?" Killian asked, matching her low tone of voice. "He abandoned you and your son?"

"He didn't know I was pregnant. I wasn't very far along when I got arrested and didn't even know myself. Anyway I came back this way and ended up moving in with one of my former foster moms. She helped get me on my feet and taught me how to be a mom to Henry. I got work answering phones and stuff for this bail bonds person. She started teaching me the ropes and I would sneak and look for Neal. I guess it didn't occur to me that he didn't want to be found. My lead came from an advertisement and press release that Mr. Gold had done. It mentioned his son Gideon and older son Neal. There was an old family photo with it and I recognized him."

"But that didn't tell you where he was at?" Killian asked, sounding very much like an investigator at that moment. "Did you know about your parents living here at that point?"

"Nope," she said, letting the p pop on her tongue. "I found out a little about Mr. Gold and realized from things that Neal said when we were together that they had a strange sort of relationship. Recently there was a story on the news about this new database program they have for people who were adopted. It was just a whim and I tried it. Boom! There was a match because my parents saw the story too."

"You must have been gobsmacked to know you were talking about the same little town, love."

She reclined back on her elbows, looking toward the tongue and groove ceiling. "I avoided coming as long as I could," she admitted. "Ingrid encouraged me, but I was scared he would be here." Confusion flickered on his face at the name. "Ingrid's my former foster mom. She knows all this too."

"Emma, I know you probably don't want my advice, but this is not a game you want to play. Mr. Gold is not just a dangerous man. He's quite sadistic and would think nothing of not just revealing your secret but destroying you in any way he could. It might be best to simply tell Neal and then do whatever it takes to keep the lad safe from that whole bloody family."

"I have to tell him. I need to tell him about Henry. How can I not? But I want to in my own way and in my own time." She glanced toward the door. "That's kind of the reason I'm hurrying to find Neal. I don't want him to hear it from his father first."

"So why tell Gold at all?" Killian asked. "That seems dangerous and risky."

"It wasn't one of my finer decisions," Emma admitted. "Maybe I was thinking that Henry needs a family. He needs roots and people who love him. On a lighter note, I doubt I helped David like you being here any better by sneaking up here."

"No doubt his imagination is running wild," Killian chuckled. "Best be getting you downstairs. Don't worry I'll keep a respectable distance and not flirt with you too much." He hopped down from the dresser with a thud. "I will still leave if you wish. I can always say something came up."

She put a fist up to her mouth, hiding behind it for a moment. "I know we got off to a rocky start, but I'm kind of starting to see you as an ally in all this. So don't leave me alone with Regina, okay? I don't think I can take it."

He took his bottom lip between his teeth. "You know what I said about you not owing me anything for the favors I keep doing for you?" He smiled as she nodded hesitantly. "I think this might be one time I need to cash in on them. That woman is insufferable."

"Yeah," she said, accepting his hand as he pulled her up to standing. She ignored that the move put her awfully close to him and that they both paused briefly at the proximity. "Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone. We go have dinner. We make our excuses and both get out of here. It'll get us away from Regina and David will have a nice little freak out."

"You're cruel," he said, still not stepping back from her. "Bloody brilliant, but there's a dark streak in you, Swan. I quite like it."

"Come on, Killian. My father will be listening at the door for sounds of squeaking bedsprings if we take any longer."

***AAA***

"I imagine my next performance review will be utter rubbish," Killian said, jogging a few steps to keep up with her as they headed down the few spaces to where he was parked. "David is truly relishing his role as proper father."

"It's kind of annoying," Emma said, plopping down next to him in the car. "I know why he's doing it, but still it sucks. You'd think I wasn't a single mom or a grown woman."

Killian rubbed his hands together and waited as the car warmed a bit before throwing it in drive. "I hardly blame him, but you managed to appease him. The look on his face when you suggested his watching over the lad was the turning point I do believe."

"I'm really not good at this whole escaping while I have something to do thing, but I'm going to trust you here. So where are we going?" she asked, clearly not wanting to speak any longer about her family relationships and the awkwardness of dinner. Regina had grilled Emma endlessly over the meal, throwing in snide remarks and questions about her life and life choices. She was unpleasant, but even more so was the fact that she quickly dismissed both Mary Margaret and David's attempts to rescue their daughter. Only Killian managed to get in a few quips of his own, including something about her sister and a guy who worked at the bar with Liam.

"To be quite frank I wasn't all that sure you'd leave with me, so I haven't had time to formulate a plan. We could visit the Rabbit Hole again. My brother's not working tonight but it is still just as disreputable without him. Have a drink at Granny's? There's a quaint little park just north of town, but it's kind of cold and can be rather crowded with joggers and the like. We've already had ice cream today. Is there something you'd rather do?" He was headed into the downtown area that was already darkening with the close of the day. She kept her eyes turned toward the glass and stared outward though she did catch glimpses of him in the window.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't really want to be around people," she said, holding her hands out in front of the heat vents. "Could we go back to your boat? It seemed quiet there."

"Your wish is my command, milady," he said, making a u-turn just before the next intersection and heading back toward the water. "I know the sea is often calming to me too."

She wiggled her fingers in front of the vents as if to beckon the warmth. "I never lived near the ocean as a kid, but I saw it on television and in the movies. I always thought I wanted to be there."

"There is nothing quite like it."

The car hummed along and the headlights danced on the occasional sign or reflective surface. She readjusted her stance in the seat and watched him for a minute. "So what's your deal?" she asked suddenly, causing him to cough on air in surprise. "I mean you seem normal enough. You're relatively good looking."

"I'm devastatingly handsome I'll have you know," he teased. "Is this where you ask why I'm not married with a few little pirates of my own running around?"

"No," she smiled softly. "I don't ask questions like that. I was just wondering why you are…I don't know…like this. I mean I've been a bitch to you. And the moment I decide that I kind of need you, you're there and supportive. People aren't like that normally. So what is wrong with you?"

"I'm on my way to getting offended there, Swan. No, you weren't exactly nice and kind, but I do think I understand somewhat. You know I have a brother, but I also had a father. Had one until I was about six." His thumbs beat a rhythm on the steering wheel.

"He died?" she asked quietly, imagining how sad that must have been for him.

"Nope, he ran. Ran off because the authorities were looking for him. Let my mum take on all the responsibilities of being a parent without a lick of help from him. He showed up a few years later, right after my mum passed away. He was married again, had another son. And wanted a pay day from my mum's estate. Thought she owed him." Killian shook his head. "Emma, you had what is a dreadful childhood. But you're hardly alone in that experience. Sometimes when we know that pain of rejection we try to reject everyone else first, thinking it will hurt less."

She lowered her hands, studying them for a minute. "That never works, does it?"

"No, it doesn't. It leads to a hollow existence. But I'm hardly one to be giving you advice on how to move past the wounds of childhood."

Emma relaxed her head against the seat back. "So can we talk about something a little lighter? I'm not sure I'm all that ready for an analysis of my childhood and the wounds I still carry around from that."

"Of course, love," Killian said. The docks were coming into view and the moonlight seemed brighter there. "I will tell you that the water is often a salve for anything that ails you though."

Emma laughed, her head rolling on the seat rest to turn toward him again. "You really can't help it, can you? Helping me? It just pops out of you. Most guys try pick up lines or bragging. You offer advice and sound like a psychiatrist sometimes."

Killian chuckled under his breath as he pulled into one of the closer parking spots. Resting his arms on the steering wheel, he stared into the darkness of the night. "I will try to be more normal, Swan. So what was Henry's first word?"

"Seriously? You're thinking that is a normal conversation topic?"

His eyebrows raised and he snorted with frustration. "Fine, love, you ask the questions then. I am clearly showing my abnormalities here by showing any interest in you."

"Favorite food?" she asked.

"Fresh clams or oysters, a good aged rum, and perhaps my mother's recipe for stew," he listed without giving it much thought. "And you?"

"Grilled cheese," she said just as easily. When he cocked an eyebrow at her choice, she shrugged. "I have a four year old and am not as mature as I seem. Favorite color?"

"I tend to wear black, perhaps for my rotten core or perhaps because it is easiest to find in my wardrobe. But I do love a nice green, such as the way your eyes looked that day I first met you on the docks. Well before they grew dark with suspicion."

"Seriously?"

"You said you were expecting flirty banter. I was doing my best to give you that." He winked, the awkward movement of his eye barely qualifying. "Emma, you can't be that surprised that men, including myself, would find you attractive."

She placed her fingers at the bridge of her nose. "So are we planning to sit here all night or are you going let me see why it is you think being near the water is so relaxing?"

"Touché," he said softly. "Let me give you a quick tour."

"I've seen your boat," she reminded him as they exited the car and walked down the path to the docks. "Needs paint, a little cramped, probably suffers from boat envy because some of these things are bigger, newer, and better looking?"

"She's not pristine yet, but I assure you that she's a proper sailing vessel. And if I thought your son might not kill me in a rage of jealousy, I'd suggest a little sail about the harbor to show you just how wrong you are, Swan."

She smiled, ignoring his proffered hand to help her aboard. "Well, maybe if we come back someday, you can show us the finished product. Wouldn't want to have my son mad at you."

"He's too good a lad to be filled with vengeance." Killian stooped at the railing and lifted the lid of a plastic storage chest, pulling out a tartan blanket that he snapped and laid out on the worn and weathered deck. "Have a seat, love, I'll be back in a moment."

She inspected the blanket suspiciously, muttering about the possibility of him wrapping her in it and tossing her overboard. He didn't seem upset by the veiled accusation though and responded that he wouldn't wish to lose the blanket, as it was one of his favorites. He disappeared down the ladder and reemerged a few minutes later with an armload of stuff, including a couple of pillows that he dumped down unceremoniously.

"Impressive that you could carry so much," Emma said, unwrapping her arms from around herself and stacking the pillows for use. "Did you bring an extra blanket because it is seriously cold out here."

Having turned his back to her to set down a few things, he spun to face her with a blanket rolled up in his hands. "As you wish, milady," he said gallantly, laughing as she practically ripped it from his hands and covered herself with it. She looked adorable with it tucked up under her chin and her eyes looking excited and pleased at the additional warmth.

"You realize I'm not sharing, right?" she asked teasingly. "I may not be still plotting your murder, but I'm not about to go to that level yet."

Reaching behind himself, he pulled out another and grinned. "While body heat might be more preferable and effective, I did predict you might wish to have your own." He sat beside her on the deck, their shoulders brushing as he spread his own blanket across his back more like a cape. "So what questions do you still have for me?"

She was sitting with her eyes half closed and head tilted back, her hair loose instead of tied back in a braid or ponytail. Shivering a little, she did not protest as he gently pushed himself over to situate himself behind her. It wasn't exactly a cuddle or a hug, but she wasn't up for analyzing it anyway other than to say he did block some of the breeze. "I could go old school and ask boxers or briefs."

"And I could try to entice or shock you by saying neither," he goaded friskily. "But I will leave that for another time. Perhaps I might ask a question."

"Such as?"

"Did you love him?" he asked, his voice hesitant instead of strong like it usually was when he flirted or even just talked with her.

"Neal?" she asked, aware that is the only person he could possibly mean. "Yes, I thought I did. And then…well, I guess I realized I didn't really know him. I knew the him that he showed me. The hurt, angry guy who wanted to start over and build a new life. I knew the guy who liked to swipe things he didn't even need just because he could. I knew the guy who was so afraid of being found by his father that he burned every bridge he could to avoid the possibility. But I don't know that it was the real him." She shifted against him, pressing her back to his chest and not protesting that his hands were moving up and down her covered arms.

"I see," he said softly. "And since him?"

"One night stands," she shrugged. "It seems safer, less personal."

"Aye, it does." His mouth was near the crown of her head, his nose breathing in the warm scent of her shampoo. "Apologies for bringing it up again."

She didn't respond right away, holding her breath as she seemed to contemplate the right thing to say or do. If he had been less of an observer, he might have tried to fill the silence with another question, quip, or anecdote. Instead he let her think, the motion of his hands on her arms warming her more than she anticipated. "I saw something last night," she said suddenly, announcing it as if she had seen a ghost or UFO. "I didn't tell you at the time."

"At the bar?" he asked, not moving away. "When?"

"At the shop. I saw Neal's coat on the floor of the shop while we were looking through the windows. At least I think that's his coat. It was kind of distinctive."

He sighed, the expel of air rustling some of the strands of her hair. "That's why you came to me today, isn't it. You knew you have to find him."

She threw her head back abruptly to lock eyes with him. "That makes it sound like I'm using you. Yes, I saw the coat. And yes it made me worry that maybe Gold would tell Neal about Henry. But I wasn't trying to manipulate you. I was just…"

"I didn't accuse you, Swan." One of his hands left her arm to dig his phone out of his pocket, the vibration of it reminding him that they were still searching for Neal. "Jones here," he answered. A few seconds passed and he blew out a stream of air. "Jefferson, that's quite interesting, but do you know for sure?" He again listened and Emma shifted against him. She was clearly trying to follow the context of the conversation from just his side and finding it impossible.

Once he disconnected, he tossed the phone onto the blanket beside them. "So it seems," he began, his right hand returning to her shoulder where it stayed instead of traveling downward. "Neal just got spotted heading into the library again."

"But Belle said…"

"Aye, and the library is closed. So we might assume that she is unaware he's even there."

"Makes sense if he doesn't want his father to know he's here either," Emma said slowly. "He's always been sort of paranoid. Can we…"

"Aye, let's head over the library and see if we can catch ourselves a thief."


	8. Chapter 8

Killian leaned forward toward the lock, inspecting it carefully as he tried to decide which of the keys would work. Calling Belle seemed a bit rude given the circumstances and David would have only lectured him. "Give me just a shake longer, love," Killian said when Emma's breathing shortened and sounded frustrated. "Almost there."

"I could have already picked that lock by now," Emma said sourly. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Emma, you just asked a deputy to help you break and enter the library. I think we have enough problems without you popping the lock and getting us both in trouble. Belle is a lovely person, but she's not daft. She would notice a broken lock."

While it was warmer in town than on the water, Emma still shivered and rubbed her hands over her arms as the jumped up and down in place. "Just hurry. If he's really here, I need to talk to him."

Killian jabbed at the lock with another of the keys, reminding himself to get Tink to at least create labels for the unmarked slivers. "Calm down, love. If he's there, the likelihood of escape is very low. The fire door on the rear of the building was not opening as of last week. The city fined Belle for that and she was waiting on Leroy to come and fix it. He's been drinking so much as of late, the door is surely still more of a wall."

The door's lock finally clicked with about the 30th key he had inserted. Smiling broadly, he opened door for her and waved his arm in front of him. "After you."

"Yeah, um, about that. I think I should go alone." Emma stood in the doorway, her hands touching the door frame as if to block it. "It's better that I talk to him alone."

"You truly think I'm going to let you march in there alone?"

"I kind of think you don't have a choice," Emma declared, looking very determined as she stared him down. "This is my fight. I'm capable."

"Never thought you weren't, but it's hardly a good situation. Whatever this bloke has done since abandoning you and his son has him hiding in the very town he grew up in and from the people who supposedly love him. I'm not so sure that he's as stable minded as you might be hoping. And I'd be a fool to let you go in there unarmed."

Her lips thinned as she reached toward her inside jacket pocket and then jerked her hand away. "Who said I'm unarmed. Killian, I've got this. I swear." She turned to look over her shoulder at the darkened rows of shelves. "Just tell me where the entrance to this basement is located."

Against his better judgement he told her, asking once again if she wanted him to at least wait for her in the tiny shell of an elevator and then accompany her back to the car. She didn't. So he stood there and watched as the darkness swallowed her. He stood there for minutes and then retreated to the car under his own guise of keeping it warm for her. He should have told her where the lights were at least, but it was water under the bridge now.

Even a little later he still thought it was a horrible idea He understood her desire to confront her son's father alone, as it was something she truly needed to do as a woman and a mother. And while she would probably punch him for even suggesting again that he accompany her, he felt the need deep inside to do what he could to help her avoid the distress of the situation.

"You've got it bad," Killian said to himself, folding his arms across his chest. Attraction to the woman was natural, as she was quite beautiful and more interesting in a single conversation than his last five dates combined. His brother might suggest he was drawn to broken women, but his assessment was more positive. Emma wasn't broken to him, merely battle tested and fierce with her strength and determination. The fact that she could track down skips and haul them in herself in the same night that she read her son a bedtime story and cuddled with him until he fell asleep was beguiling and bewitching at the same time.

Bringing his phone to life, he stared at the time. It was nearly 11 p.m. and sleep was going to be calling him home at any moment. He'd had precious little since that morning, but he wasn't going to complain. Tink would do enough of that if he showed up with bloodshot eyes and the attention span of a gnat. She'd already been after him about needing to shave or at least trim the stubble that seemed to have sprouted more than usual lately. Scratching his fingers against the rough hairs at his jaw, he wondered briefly if Emma would have an opinion of that.

She'd only been inside the library for 15 minutes when he yawned, neck popping with the intensity of it. If Jefferson had not called, he knew he might be curled up with Emma right now on his boat. He wasn't daft enough to think that she would have appreciated affection. He merely thought they might be huddled together for warmth as they spoke of all those things that seemed important in the moment. The thought of her in his arms was not at all what he needed, but it would be welcome should it come to fruition. While she wore a suit of armor around everyone, he could see the chinks in it that revealed a softer and more vulnerable version of her that he found intriguing and beautiful.

Her tap at the passenger window was a surprise that startled him from his thoughts. "So quick?" he asked, leaning across to open the door for her.

"He's not there," she answered quickly, digging her hands deeper into her pockets. "Let's just go."

Killian didn't immediately throw the car into gear, staring at her and then the darkened building. "What do you mean he's not there?"

"Surely you've mastered the concept of there or not there," Emma disputed. "I used the crank thing on that seriously old elevator and went down to the basement like you said. There wasn't any sign of him. Nothing."

"That's odd," he mused, tapping his knuckles on his chin. "Perhaps he left before we got here? Or he could have been hiding? Jefferson sounded quite sure that it was him he saw."

Her eyes cut toward him angrily. "He's not there, Killian. I am aware of what your friend said, but there is no sign of him. Just drive me back to the loft." Her head tilted back as she started to fight off a sneeze. Yanking her right hand out of her pocket, she stopped just short of sneezing into her elbow.

"Emma," Killian said, grabbing hold around her wrist. "Your hand! It's hurt. Let me help you."

She tugged it back. "It's fine, Killian. It's fine."

"No," he protested. "It looks deep. I've got a first aid kit in the boot of my car. Let me…"

"I said it's fine. If you don't want to drive me to my parents, that's fine. I can walk from here."

That softer and more open Emma that he had so enjoyed conversing with and sharing a meal with that evening was gone. Her harsh edges were on fully display as she stared directly ahead with her hand, clearly injured in her lap. "I'll drive," he said softly. "Emma, don't worry. We will find him. I'm sure of it."

"It doesn't matter," Emma retorted mostly to herself. "It so doesn't matter."

She did at least let him look at her hand before she bolted up the stairs to the loft. It was shaking as he held it, inspecting it intently and then cleaning it. He told her of small and inconsequential things as he blew warm breath on the cut to take away the stinging pain. His eyes lifted to watch her as she flinched. "It's not as bad as all that," he said, wrapping the bandage around it. "I should think you were used to worse."

"That crap you put on it hurt like hell."

He was still holding her hand, gingerly tying off the bandage. "My apologies. It is the best they offer, but I am sure it does sting."

The heel of her boot tapped as she bounced her leg in place. "Thank you."

"That's your go to, isn't it? Thank you. You say it when you don't know what else to say." He smiled at his observation, proud that he had figured that out about her.

She wasn't as impressed. "I was being polite. Don't you recognize that?"

"Emma, I'm sorry that he wasn't there tonight, but I assure you that we will find him. If he's in town, there's a reason. And if that reason is not his father, then I would say you are the likely target of his attention."

She huffed, pulling back her hand and inspecting his work. "I told you that it doesn't matter."

"Aye, but you also came to me quite worried. I don't think you would have asked for help if it didn't matter."

***AAA***

"That's an apple," Killian said when his boss arrived at work the next morning. Rather than his dark jeans and sweater that were part of his wardrobe, he was wearing a crisp button down shirt, non-denim pants, and a matching vest. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up to his elbows as he reviewed the notes for that morning's doldrums of traffic court. How many times would he be asked to recall the minute details of traffic stops that had been nothing more than a moment out of his life?

David, who had plopped himself down on the desk next to Killian, rolled his eyes and bit into the red, shiny fruit, using his other hand to extend a middle finger upward. After a quick chew and swallow, he chuckled. "I'm aware of that, Killian."

"Just making sure, because you were either confused as to its identity or you were about to start questioning it in some unknown crime. I hoped it was simply the first option."

David bit into the flesh of the fruit again, keeping his eyes on Killian. "So you and Emma?"

Dropping the file he was holding, Killian rubbed his hand over his face. "Mate, I know you don't approve. You told me to stay away from her. I was simply trying to be her friend."

He nodded absently. "She say anything that was bothering her?"

Killian raised an eyebrow, thinking it might be a delayed reaction to the right hook to the jaw he was prepared to receive. "Not that I'm aware," he lied, not wanting to reveal the background behind his and Emma's recent meetings. He wasn't even sure if she was still wanting his assistance. But either way he wasn't going to betray her confidence. "Something seems to be troubling her?"

"She was not like she has been this morning," the sheriff said, choosing his words carefully. "She barely said a word. And I'm not even going into how she bit my head off when I asked about her hand. Do you know how she hurt it?"

"I wasn't there for that part, mate," Killian answered honestly. "I'm sure she's just in a mood. She'll be fine soon."

David looked back at his partially eaten apple as if he couldn't quite remember how it had appeared in his hand. His thumb flicked at a loose piece of its flesh. "It's just that our time with her is limited. She's leaving soon. And to be honest, I don't know that we'll ever see her here again. It's not like she…"

"She seemed to be fine during dinner last night. Other than Mayor Mills giving her quite the interrogation, but she handled that like a pro. Just keep giving her a chance. She's clearly warming up to the idea of a family of parents and a brother. It's just a bit awkward is all."

David nodded, biting again, chewing, and then swallowing. "We're going to Granny's tonight. Thought it might be less pressure than an intimate family meal."

Tapping his pen on the page in front of him, Killian smiled warmly. "Sounds like a fine plan."

"Are we going to see you there?" David asked suddenly. "I mean my daughter or my wife didn't invite you, did they?"

"This is the first I'm hearing of it," Killian assured him. "And I was planning to turn in a bit early. It's been a tiring few days."

It was David's turn to nod, standing up and heading into his office that was hardly private with a wall of windows outside and another that overlooked the main room where Killian and Tink both sat. "I guess it wouldn't be too bad if you did come," he said toward the wall rather than Killian.

Tink heard and comprehended first, snickering into her computer software manual. But Killian simply raised an eyebrow.

"I may be protective, Jones, but I am not blind. She reacts better to you than either of us. I don't know what you said to her to get her to smile and laugh like she did when you two came downstairs, but damn if I didn't notice."

If Tink had been in striking distance, he might have kicked her to keep her from laughing. As it was, he considered throwing a wad of paper in her direction. "I appreciate that, but I don't know that she holds me in that high of esteem. Emma's a tough one. She runs quite hot and cold."

The phone rang and startled them both as Tink answered it with an almost bored greeting. However, she sat up quickly, spinning her chair to face both the sheriff and deputy, the squeak of it sounding across the room. "Yeah, yeah. I'll get him. Hold on."

She pressed a button on the phone, and hung it up. "Call on line one, David," she said sounding a bit spooked. "Something about finding a body by the docks."

"What?" Killian asked, lunging forward in his own chair. "The docks?"

Tink didn't answer, just raising her eyebrows and then turning her attention to David in his office. She didn't even pretend to look busy as she studied his movements, facial expressions, and moving lips.

"What did they say?" Killian hissed at her, still getting no answer. He stood from his desk, making no pretense about walking toward his superior's office and standing at the door with his arms crossed and shoulder resting on the frame.

David was just making affirmative noises, not really revealing anything with his end of the conversation. When he finished and replaced the receiver, he shook his head. "There's a body, male, about 30 or so, not recognized by the EMT who was called in on it. The medical examiner's on his way. I'll head on over and see if I know who it is."

"Homicide?" Killian asked, his eyes opening wider at the thought of an actual crime to solve instead of missing items from freightliners and trespassing charges.

"Looks like it," he said, shrugging back into his jacket. "Knife wound was evident. So either he knew his attacker and trusted him or her. Or he got surprised. Guess we'll find out."

Killian nodded, hurrying back to his desk for his own jacket. "Did they find the weapon? We should make a sweep through there before the state lads swoop in. And you know they will soon as they hear."

David adjusted the shoulder strap of his holster and stood warily by the always empty water cooler. "Did you forget you have court? I'll go take a look. You go deal with the judge."

"But I…"

"Killian, if we lose the revenue off those tickets and citations because no cop shows for the hearings, Regina will kill us both. Now go deal with it. It's your turn." The sheriff had a point, as every pending case needed law enforcement on hand to be prosecuted. While it would be boring and mundane, one of them had to be there to answer questions from the judge and defendant representation if needed.

If David had stayed, he would have seen a sulking and petulant Killian. What did he care if Granny Lucas going 13 miles over the speed limit in her granddaughter's sporty little muscle car? She could get by without the fine and he would not be sad in the least. He sulked the rest of his time in the office and certainly in court where he was repeating himself about things such as traffic codes and the like. It was his least favorite part of the job, especially knowing there was a more exciting case just down the road from where he sat.

When the judge finally broke for lunch, he headed to Granny's after a pass by the docks where there was no activity, nearly running into oncoming traffic as he texted David. His boss gave no reply and Emma's reply to his third try at saying good morning/afternoon was met with a curt response that she was busy.

"What do you have there, mate?" Killian asked the man sitting at the counter with his son. "Looks like you two have enough food for an army."

Robin sheepishly shifted one of the to go bags to the side and looked down at his unfinished plate of food. His son had complained loudly that morning that he was hungry, demanding something better than the beans and toast that were his father's go to meal. "We're just having a little lunch and then dropping off some of Granny's soup and a sandwich for Zelena." Robin leaned onto his folded arm. "She's got a bit more of an appetite these days now that the morning sickness seems to have passed."

"That's good I suppose," Killian said, eyeing the bag carefully. "Things still a bit complicated there, mate?"

"Well only if you call sleeping with your girlfriend's sister during a drunken bender to be complicated." The part-time bar employee with Liam groaned as he realized that he had just said such a thing in front of his son. "I'm sure you have better to do with your time than hear me wonder for the millionth time about my sad state of affairs."

"I was actually curious if you'd heard anything about the situation by the docks. I veered down there after court but the crime scene was abandoned." Killian flashed his friend a smile in hopes that it might help loosen his tongue. While not law enforcement, Robin had a penchant for being in the right spot at the right time, especially in terms of knowing things.

"I suppose you're referring to the…" he looked down at the chocolate eyes of his son with his late wife, "bloke who was taking a nap."

"Aye," Killian said, suppressing a laugh at the delicate way Robin put it. "Any word on why he needed one or who he was?"

"Running with a knife and one of Gold's sons," Robin answered before taking another bite of his food. "Not Gideon, but you know…What was his name? The one who left town a few years ago after that spat with his papa."

"Neal," Killian said, his eyes probably betraying him with their shock. "Neal was the one…taking a nap?"

"By the way I hear it, yes. Don't know all the details, but it sure seems that way. And I saw Gold driving off in a hurry in that direction not more than two hours ago. That man's never in a hurry so I surely remembered seeing it."

Killian drew out his phone and stared at the lack of message notification. "Well, you two have a lovely lunch. I should go check in with Dave."

"Of course," Robin answered, saving a fork that was precariously close to the edge of the counter. "Roland and I will see you soon."

Forgetting that he had not had lunch yet himself, Killian jogged back in the direction of the hospital. If the body had been removed, it was likely now at the morgue and undergoing tests to see as to cause of death and a search for clues. More importantly he was likely to find David there. Sure enough he did. The sheriff was propped against one of the counters in the file room throwing casual glances toward the closed door where the lab was located.

He gave a wry smile to Killian as he arrived. "Figured you would make your way here eventually."

"Is it…"

"You're going to have to finish that question. Is it Neal? Yes, it is. Is it homicide? Most likely. Is it going to rain? No, but there is some talk of a light dusting of snow this weekend. Is it a good time to ask for vacation? No, it's not."

"I was going to ask if it was Neal, but thanks for the other information, mate." Killian pulled the rolling chair out from behind a desk where a file clerk or assistant would normally sit. "Any clue as to who the murderer was?"

David's fingers dug into his hip as he jutted it out a little more. "No, I haven't had a good read on it yet. I'm sure the state guys will be here any second with their opinions and directives. I was thinking more about Emma."

Killian swallowed, following his supervisor's gaze back to the door where a sign saying authorized personnel hung crookedly with a corner peeled off. "You haven't told her yet?"

"No, I wasn't sure of her reaction. From what I've gathered Neal hasn't really been a part of her life in some time. Still it will be a blow to hear that he's…" He dropped his hands. "It'll be a blow to hear he's dead."

"Aye, not a conversation I'd relish having with anyone." He didn't add what he was thinking about Emma's strained relationship with the man or her oddly determined opinion about finding him. There were certainly enough questions about him.

***AAA***

Emma flung herself onto the bed and stared up at the high arched ceiling overhead. The loft, while cozy and a vintage with its charm, was more suitable to a couple of hipsters than her parents. But that was not what was on her mind as she held her phone to her ear and waited for Ingrid to come back from thwarting one of her new charge's attempts to set a fire in a trash can because he saw it on television.

"Sorry about that," Ingrid said a bit breathlessly. "I just can't deal with another insurance rate hike because of a kid turned arsonist."

"We could talk later," Emma suggested, hugging a pillow to her chest. She wasn't sure that she would have been able to sneak away again, as her mother seemed to be turning more into a cruise director with suggestions of little adventures they could take for an hour or so. So far they'd taken a tour of an old church and convent that seemed more 1970s than 1860s from the brochure, a wishing well and bridge that vandals had named a troll bridge, and a shopping adventure through a misnamed store of Modern Fashions. Emma had stopped her before she took her to the fishing supply store or one of the other narrowly focused establishments. Her mother was now downstairs digging through her closet for old pictures that they would peruse with wine after dinner and bedtime for Leo and Henry.

"No, no," Ingrid protested. "I want to hear about Maine. Is it as lovely as it always looks on television? I bet it is. So much fall color."

"Yeah, it's pretty," Emma admitted somewhat reluctantly. "And before you ask, my parents seem really nice."

"I knew that without you telling me." She paused and Emma could visualize her former foster mother scissoring her fingers together and apart in that way she did before she said something that might not be popular. "But how are you reacting. I know you can, well, shut down when people try to get too close to you."

Emma gave the woman a brief recap of the children's museum, going over paperwork for her father's mystery case involving the cargo and freight that had gone missing, and the little jaunts about the small New England town. She even briefly mentioned the bar and her mother's friend being an entertaining adventure of her own.

Ingrid hummed in response, clearly not convinced that Emma was having that relaxing of a time bonding with her parents. "And the other people in town? Anyone your age? Anyone you can relate to? I always try to tell the kids who live here that it will feel more like a home and less like a foster home if they let themselves have at least one ally."

With Killian's face flashing before her eyes, Emma felt her chest tighten. "You know I'm not exactly the warm and fuzzy type here."

"Elsa usually calls that your prickly side, but I was just thinking that maybe you'd find the whole visiting the parents thing more enjoyable if you have someone to escape with. A friend who you enjoy talking to or just hanging out with on a quiet afternoon. Someone you can relate to and won't think of you just as these people's long lost daughter."

"You're not suggesting…"

"I'm not suggesting anything, Emma. I just simply thought that maybe you'd find someone there who would make things a little easier to take."

She didn't respond immediately, again seeing Killian's blue eyes that seemed almost hurt when she had brushed him off the night before. In Boston she had friends, acquaintances, coworkers, and people to talk to and enjoy a random event with on the fly. But she was not a relationship kind of person. "You know I usually just end up ruining those relationships before they even begin. Some guy asks me out and I go only to prefer staying home with a book or playing a game with Henry over a second date."

Ingrid's laugh was much like her voice, soft and airy. "You know that Henry loves spending time with his mommy. And I wasn't necessarily talking about dating. But since you brought it up, any action on that front?"

"You honestly expect me to have a fling while I am supposed to be getting to know my parents?"

"Emma, why must you always jump to these conclusions? No, I don't expect you to have a fling. I know you well enough to know that you don't do romance. And no, I don't need to know any hook up or one night stand." Ingrid often walked that line between friend and parental figure in Emma's life, but dating was a subject hard for her to broach. Her foster mother, though perpetually single, had not been particularly fond of Emma's scratch an itch form of dating.

"I'll rest your mind by saying that I have slept alone every night so far."

Ingrid hummed approvingly again. "I should hope so since that bed belongs to your parents. But it would be okay to meet someone. You can't say that you haven't seen anyone attractive or interesting."

Groaning with frustration, Emma hugged the bed pillow to her chest tighter. "Since you seem to want to turn this into a slumber party confessional, I snuck away from my parents' dinner party for my step-grandmother with a guy last night. For a while we even sat on the deck of his boat and talked…I don't know."

If smiles made a sound, Ingrid's would have been singing through the phone. "Oh darling, that's wonderful. A boat? Sounds very romantic."

"It wasn't," Emma protested weakly. "He works for my father."

Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, Ingrid sounded disapproving. "That's probably not the smartest thing, but I know young love can be…"

"Oh my God, Ingrid, please stop. It isn't love. It was us sneaking away from a bitch of a woman who forced my parents to give me away. It wasn't even lust. I didn't sleep with him." With a clumsy throw, the pillow sailed onto the floor. "Neal's here."

"Oh so you know someone…Neal? You mean Neal?" The woman's whimsical tone took a sharp edge as she realized what the single mother meant. "Good grief. I know you said that he had family there, but did you know he was lurking around."

"I had no idea where he was. I was going to try to talk to him, tell him about Henry, but it's too late now."

"Too late? I don't understand," Ingrid said, calling out to one of her charges again about safety. "Emma, you need to tell him. You've said that you would."

Closing her eyes, Emma could see the man with Henry's eyes staring back at her, laughing as she attempted to slide a few items under her coat at the store. While he always seemed carefree, she could read into him a sort of detached worry that she had always assumed was part of his parental issues. He never spoke much of them except to tell her that she couldn't possibly understand the rejection he had felt. Hers had come too early in life, as she had never felt the potential for happiness that he had. "His father probably already told him."

"Emma, that doesn't make sense," Ingrid said with agitation. "If he knew that he was a father, wouldn't he…"

"It's too late."

***AAA***

Mary Margaret laughed loudly as he grandson dispersed a cloud of flour that seemed to cling to his mother. Their late afternoon activity of baking cookies had turned into more of a science play experiment with the flower that Henry thought of as sand. "Watch!" he demanded, clapping his flour covered hands again and giggling at his mother's pained expression.

"You," Emma said, ruffling his hair, "need a bath. This is why we always buy that premade cookie dough, kid."

"These taste much better than the premade stuff," Mary Margaret protested, pulling her phone out of her pocket and snapping a photo of Henry's exuberant smile. "Now one of you too together!" She waved her hand to indicate that mother and son should get closer. "Come on."

To everyone's surprise, Emma didn't protest. She leaned forward and draped her arm around the small child. Her smile was slight but still flashed toward the phone. Once the teacher was satisfied, Emma scooped Henry up and headed toward the one bathroom that had a tub. "I'm going to try to get him cleaned up."

"Good luck," her mother called. "Extra towels are in the closet behind the curtain."

It was another 15 minutes before she carried a still excited but damp haired boy wrapped in clean dry clothes into the kitchen. Her father was standing next to the window, looking down on the street with his hands pushing back the jacket around his hips he still wore despite the warmth of the room. Her mother was nowhere to be seen. "Sorry," she said, heading for the stairs. "Henry had too much fun playing in the flour. He was a mess and I had to give him a bath. We'll be ready in just a minute and we can go to dinner."

"Emma, wait," David said, still not turning. "I need to talk to you. Send Henry upstairs to Mary Margaret."

She glanced up at the landing of the loft at her mother who was already holding out her arms. "Can I get changed first?" she asked with a laugh. "I am covered in what's now wet flour."

Mary Margaret walked a few steps down, her face not as bright as it usually was. "You can in a minute. I think he really needs to talk to you."

She immediately felt the loss of Henry from her arms and let her eyes follow his ascent up the stairs. "Sounds serious," she said, brushing her fingers across the opposite sleeve. "So…?"

"There's not an easy way to say this," David warned, his back still turned. She could just make out his reflection in the glass. "Neal Gold has been in town. I don't know if you knew that."

She stared at him in the reflection and sucked in a breath as he turned to face her. "He is?" she asked shakily. If he realized that she wasn't surprised, he didn't say anything. Dropping her hands to her sides, she let the air out through her nose slowly. "Has he…"

"Emma, I don't know how to tell you this. I got a call this morning. His body was found by the docks." Her father took a stuttering step forward and then drew back as she threw her hands up as if to ward him off. "It appears to be a homicide."

"By the docks?" she asked, the tremble in her voice quite noticeable. "Is…was…"

"Still investigating. We don't really have a good read on the motive or the person yet. Mr. Gold was called in to identify him. I'm sure he'll probably have a funeral as soon as the body is released." He covered he lower half of his face with his left hand. "I'm so sorry, Emma. I know that he…you and he might not have been together, but he's Henry's father. No kid should grow up without their father around."

"Yeah," she said breathlessly. "You said you don't have a suspect yet?"

"No, I'm not even totally sure that the homicide took place on those docks. It was a pretty clean crime scene." He rocked back, not telling her of the inordinate lengths he had gone to in order to secure the scene and maintain it for the state experts in forensics. "Emma, I'm really sorry about this. Is there anything…I could take you to the morgue. It's not really in the rules, but if you want to see him."

She shook her head. "No, I'm…I'm going to go change my clothes. You'll tell me if you learn anything, right?"

"Of course."

She gave him a tight half smile and bounded up the stairs, bypassing the open door of her brother and son's shared room and ducking into hers before her mother saw her. Her mother believed in true love and happy endings. Murdered ex's with secrets were not in her mother's realm of understanding. The moment the door clicked shut, she braced a hand against it. "Damn it, Neal. Why did you have to come here?"


	9. Chapter 9

Church had never been a comforting place for Emma and Neal's funeral was no exception. Sitting next to her mother with her son on her lap in the hard wooden pew, she barely lifted her eyes from the burgundy and blue pattered carpet under her feet. The priest, some friend of the Gold's family, had droned on for nearly an hour and left her with about as much patience as the four year old on her lap. It didn't help that her dress – one borrowed from Mary Margaret – was an attractive yet itchy wool.

"I'm going to step out," she whispered to her mother as yet another of the Gold family's colleagues got up to speak about a Neal she didn't really remember or know. They made him sound like a carefree and gentle child with a giving soul and penchant for art. She knew him as restless, irresponsible, and longing for something more than his life with a father who had chosen business over him.

Mary Margaret patted her arm consolingly, a gesture that was all too common since David had announced Neal's death. "If you need me," the teacher began in a hushed tone, smiling gently, "I'll come with you."

"I'm fine," she said, repeating the mantra that seemed to play each time her mother or father or anyone questioned her well-being. Ignoring the annoyed and even judgmental glances from the residents of the small Maine town, Emma slipped out of the sanctuary and into the cold air of the gardens that flanked the building. She couldn't stay out there long with Henry, but the idea of grieving in front of everyone was far too much for her to consider.

"You don't like funerals?" a somewhat familiar voice asked her as she wrapped the baby blanket from her shoulder bag over her son to buy another few moments in the solitude.

She turned, squinting into the overly bright autumn sun that hovered just above the trees. "I don't know many people who do. It's a strange thing to like."

"Aye, right you are, lass. No one I know relishes going to these events," the bartender offered, rubbing his gloveless hands together. "Perhaps that's why I haven't managed to barge through those doors yet."

Emma frowned partially from the sunshine and partly due to his awkward sort of confession. "I thought you and your brother haven't lived here long. I mean that's what Killian said. Do you even know Neal?"

"Not as such, no. I do know his stepmother though. She and I…well, I thought I could be here for her. She and Neal were not all that close, but it's still hard to lose someone." His eyes strayed toward the doors of the church as though he expected Belle to join them. When she didn't, he looked back toward Emma and gave a sort of grin that said he was aware how odd he sounded.

Emma felt Henry relax as he let his head loll on her shoulder, his arms dropping from their usual busy position. "Belle? You and Belle? But she's married to…"

"Neal's father and Belle have been married for some time, but she recently left him over some dispute or another. It's rather a complicated tale as most marriages, especially unhappy ones, often are. She's here out of respect for her stepson and her own son who is Neal's half-brother."

"Most relationships are complicated," she echoed. "So you thought you'd just hang around outside waiting to see if she…what? Came out and talked to you? No offense, but that's kind of stalkerish or at least it's kind of like when guys in school wait for a girl outside her class only to say he bumped into her." She shifted her weight and eyed him carefully. "I thought you'd pick up better moves what with serving drinks every night."

"I came here with the best of intentions, but then seeing this place…well, I suppose I froze. Belle is a wonderful lass, and one I am honored to know, but I don't wish her any trouble. And my being here might be awkward." Reaching out he lifted the corner of the blanket to meet her hand so that it no longer hung without warming the child in her arms.

"I'm hardly a stranger to awkward, but couldn't you just sit with your brother?"

Liam was a few inches taller than Killian and wore broader shoulders than his younger brother. His eyes were a paler shade of blue and his hair a russet color rather than the ebony mane Killian sported. There were similarities though with their bright smiles and dimpled cheeks though that did indicate more than a passing relation. "He's not here, though I suppose he will regret that oversight once he learns you were asking after him."

She lifted her sleepy and sagging son a little higher and shook her head to rearrange the waterfall of waves that was her somewhat messy hair. "I wasn't. I just assumed…"

Flashing her a smile, he dug his hands into the pockets of his worn jacket. "I'll still tell him. Might make the bloke feel a bit better to know it is not all one sided even if you do deny it."

She watched as he turned and headed down the path back toward where the cars were lined up for the trip to the cemetery that they had announced at the beginning would not be taking place. Neal's body had yet to be released, a standard procedure after a murder. She was grateful for that reprieve, though she'd heard rumors that there was to be a wake of sorts. "Wait," she called, blinking back against the sun again. "You don't mean…"

"That he fancies you? Aye, that's the general idea. Hardly good form and all that to flirt with a woman at the funeral of that woman's ex. He's at the station, if you were wondering. I believe he's working a double so that your father could attend today."

***AAA***

Killian's might have physically been at his desk, but his mind was certainly at the church where they were having a memorial service for Neal. Years had passed since most of the town had seen the man, the son of his former lover who always seemed angry at the world and bitter about the way life had treated him. And despite the sort of annoyed condemnation that Neal had displayed to the world, he had not deserved to be murdered.

He was alone in the office, thumbing through the report from the coroner's officer for about the fifth time since he had returned. Tink and David had both elected to go to the funeral, Tink having been a mere child when Neal was around and David knowing his daughter's connection. He had wondered a few times how Emma was doing, her texts back to him over the past day or so now coming with some consistency even if they weren't as playful or even sarcastic as before. He'd stopped by the loft to offer condolences on the evening after the body was found, finding her angry and almost bitter at the idea she would be expected to mourn the man after years of absence. But a quiet walk up to the roof of the building and an honest explanation of his own sorted past with the man who he had only known as Milah's son, and she was talking to him again.

"You realize that mooning over the lass while she's at the funeral of her ex-lover is the epitome of bad form," he said to himself as he pushed back in his chair and yawned. The audacity of his mind's behavior was not lost on him. He'd found himself thinking of what she might be wearing and if she might let him embrace her as she warded off the chill in the air and the icy glares of Mr. Gold or others in the town.

"Your brother wasn't sure if you were working or not," Emma said, startling him to the point that he nearly lost his balance in his chair. "But I thought you were probably here since Tink and my father are both at the church."

"And you're not?" he asked, righting himself and pretending that he was done with the diagram he had been staring at blankly. He stared at her instead, seeing the dark circles she had covered with makeup and the dimness of her eyes that don't seem to think they will see light again. This isn't the real her, he told himself as he watched her try to appear confident and strong despite the outward appearance.

"Was. I'm not anymore. There were a lot of eyes on me in there. And that's really not my thing." It's code for something, he was sure. She was anything but meek, but this seemed to have snuffed out a portion of the Emma he had first met. That woman had been defiant, walled off, and crisp with a desire to prove the world wrong. The walls were still there, but this woman was hesitant.

"It is one of the joys of a small town." He gestured a bit wildly, almost knocking over an empty cup on the edge of his desk. "There's a couch there if you and your boy would be more comfortable."

"I wasn't…I wasn't planning on staying long," she said, taking a seat in a chair that usually held suspects or victims and balanced the dozing Henry in her arms. "I wanted to see about what you were saying about that night. I know it looked bad with me looking for Neal and then…" She closed her eyes and softly sighed. "I guess I should just come out and ask if you are thinking I did it. I want to explain."

He wanted to do more than simply wave off her concerns with the flip of his hand. But he wasn't sure what else he could say. "Love, I have no reason to not to believe that he was not there when you came back."

Her eyes seemed trained on a spot on the floor rather than him, her lower lip trembling. "And if someone asks?" Henry stirred and his brown eyes seemed to search and then focus upward at his mother's sloping face. She pulled him even tighter to her and whispered something that Killian didn't hear or even feel was for him.

"Love, there is nothing to tell. You and I looked for the man to allow you some closure and to tell him of Henry. We never found him." She looked relieved, maybe a little disbelieving. "When is the last time you ate?"

"Mary Margaret's been hounding me about that. I think she's even throwing food in my mouth when I'm asleep." She shifted Henry's weight in her arms. "Kid, I know. I know. We'll go in just a minute."

"Your mother is worried about you. It's something she does quite well, if you haven't realized yet. When I fell sick with a cold last winter, the woman was dropping off bowls of soup, cold remedies, and tea with honey. The lass couldn't come in the flat because of fear of catching it, but she would text me that she had left the items." He got up and walked over to a lateral file drawer, pulling it open to search its contents. He came back with a box of eight crayons and a coloring book that spoke to bicycle safety. "Would you like this?" He asked Henry, dropping down in front of the mother and son to speak to the boy on his level. "I haven't many toys here, but this might…"

Henry bobbed his head and wiggled against his mother to let him loose. When she did, he was set to launch himself toward Killian and start to work on a masterpiece. Emma's arms went limp without the responsibility of supporting her son's weight and her face softened as the little boy looked at Killian with a joyous smile that indicated he had no idea what was going on around them.

Killian let him sit at the desk next to his, the child happier about the spinning chair than the simple colors on the creamy page. "David and I have done a bit of work on the case," he said, dragging a hand through his hair. "The state sent in the crime lab guys and there is word that one of their investigators might come here too."

"You're worried too."

"I would feel more secure if we knew who the killer was and why, but no need to worry. I have been around enough cases in my years to see that there are rarely simple answers. Yet the truth always seems to come to light." His hand drifted down and rested at his neck. "We will find Neal's killer, no doubt."

Emma nodded, the tight lines at her lips returning. "People might…people might think it is me."

He wanted to hold her, whisk her away. While he was sure that she was worried about how people would perceive her in all this, he wondered if part of it was reaction to the hold that Neal seemed to have over her, even after death. Mary Margaret and David were both probably encouraging her to grieve, leaving him to ponder his own role in helping her. "I can't say there won't be some talk of it, but that's par for the course given people's speculative nature."

"I don't usually care," Emma admitted, wiping a hand at her eyes. "It's just that I don't want Henry to feel like…"

The excuse was weak and she had to know that, he thought as he watched her look toward the little boy who had no idea why they had gone to a funeral or why his mother was sad. "He's a good child, Emma. I doubt he will remember much of this at all. You can tell him as he gets older that his father was a man of troubles or a man who would have loved to have known him. It's going to be your story to tell."

She folded the blanket that had kept her son warm and gave the deputy a shaking smile of gratitude. "We should go. You're working and I am sure it probably doesn't help to have us here."

He stood again, the blue of his eyes seeming to match the deepest of oceans. "Paperwork is hardly a reason to stay about this place. Perhaps I might walk you and the lad back to the loft? Or isn't there some sort of lunch at Granny's?"

She balked at the mention of it, clearly not wanting to see everyone stare and whisper. "I'm not up for that. I want to…I want to go home. I want to go back to Boston."

"I know, love. Let's get you back to the loft at least. I would offer you something here, but the extent of my offerings is stale coffee and maybe a pack of crackers from that blasted vending machine."

He walked with her, Henry darting ahead with some excitement over things like the metal sculpture that appeared to be a ball of shapes melting into nothingness and the miniature fairy tale characters painted in the window of a daycare learning center. "I signed him up for preschool," she said when she got misty eyed from watching her son look longingly at the school's playground. "I thought it might be good for him to be around other children."

Killian hummed a response, not really that familiar with the ins and outs of social and academic development of children. What he took from her statement was that she was a good mother, trying her best for her son when she had had no real role models for such things at that age. "He must love it."

"Yeah, he does," Emma said as they turned past the little house on the corner with the peeling paint and the sagging front porch. Henry was calling out to them his attempt to count the mailboxes. He's able to count to 20 with no problem, but after that it is a jumble that makes them both smile at his confused attempts.

"Twenty and eight," the small voice says confidently. "Eleven, seven…"

"He does it with such confidence that I almost believe him," Killian said as the boy pointed toward another. "It's quite admirable."

"It's cute and hard to correct him when he smiles at you like that," Emma admitted. She had paused in front of a small brick midcentury house with a garage and planter boxes at the window. "I wanted this kind of thing when I was a kid. A house like this because I could see myself getting off a bus here and walking in to find cookies or even a whole meal." He didn't interrupt her because her confessions of such things were rare enough to spark his curiosity. She gripped a hand on the slats of a weather worn picket fence. "I wanted the fence."

"You could still have it," he said when it was clear she wasn't going to offer more insight. "I didn't have this sort of life either, but I admit it is something I could see myself in someday."

"A wife who cooks and cleans for you?" she asked with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Kisses your cheek when you come home and slips a drink into your hand?"

His chuckle turned to a grunt when Henry ran into his legs and then away again. "I wasn't looking for a 1950s sitcom, love. I was thinking more of the stability that a home offers, the partnership of having someone beside you and a place that was just yours instead of temporarily yours. I was also thinking it is a lovely house and could picture myself there. I was thinking that I might fancy such a life."

She let go of her grip and started the walk forward again. "Your brother used that word today."

"What word is that?" Killian gave a final look to the house and lengthened his strides to catch up to her.

"Fancy. He said that you…"

He knew immediately from the color rising on her cheeks that his brother had sold him out. "My brother should shut his gob sometimes." There is a silent prayer in his head that begs her to not be angry, to accept his admiration with understanding that she was some sort of a force in his life not a choice or a decision. "Emma, I find you intriguing and I enjoy spending time with you. It's not anything sinister."

"I didn't think it was," she said softly, slowing her steps. "If I wasn't just leaving the funeral of my son's father or meeting my parents for the first time, I might have something more to say about it. But I don't have room in my life to explore this right now. I hope you understand that."

"He shouldn't have sprung that on you, love. I wasn't intending to tell you at all. Your time here is not long and it's already been quite an adventure for you." The phone that is clipped to his belt chirped and a voice demanded to know if he can check on strange sounds coming from a storage unit behind a house near them. He frowned. "I have my own responsibilities too."

"Go," she said, reaching and out and touching his leather covered arm. "And thank you. Thank you for being a friend to me."

"Of course," he said, squinting to where Henry was stooped down to study something of interest in a patch of grass. "I have tomorrow free, you know. Would you permit me to take you and the lad out for the day? I need to take my boat out for one last time before the end of the season and there's a maritime museum for children near here. He'd likely enjoy it."

The phone chirped again as her pale lips parted. "Go do your job, Killian," she said. "We'll see you tomorrow? At your boat?"

***AAA***

She was sure they were staring at her out of concern and worry, that sort of judgmental and yet loving thing that parents do when they don't know what to do or say. And she was not sure she would know what to say either. David gave her a compassionate smile when he left to meet with some of the crime scene investigators, but said nothing more than that he would be back.

Propped up against pillows on the floor, her son was curled at her side and half draped over her. She was reading to him, her words soft and deliberate as she read to him the book on how a little boy became a pirate. Her brother would toddle over and deliver toys to her, uninterested by the story or the idea of sitting still.

"I have chicken, zucchini, and macaroni," her mother announces, dipping the top half of her body into the refrigerator in search of what is left. "I could make…"

"It sounds fine," Emma told her, not moving from the floor. "Do you need help?"

"No, I can do it. You're helping by keeping the boys out of the kitchen." She knelt to pull a pan from the lowest part of the wall of cabinets. "You know if you need some time alone…to process everything, I can handle this."

By this the woman meant Henry. But in that moment the thought that anyone saw Henry as a burden was a bit much for Emma. She loved her son, needed him at her side as a piece of evidence that the world was still a kind and beautiful place. "I'm fine," she said instead of explaining that she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do alone anyway.

Her mother looked sad, rounded cheeks streaked at times with tears shed over someone she didn't really know that well either. But Emma knew that Mary Margaret who read fairy tales to Henry and Leo probably didn't understand the idea of not loving the father of your child. She believed in happily ever after, something Emma struggled to comprehend when the world wasn't always kind.

"Emma," her mother said as she stared fruitlessly into the water that was filling the pot in her hands. "I know it's not the same, but I have lost people I loved too. And it's not healthy to hold it all in and pretend like it doesn't hurt."

Emma gently closed the picture book and handed it to her son, who would probably try to "read" it to one of the stuffed animals that Leo had delivered to them in the past half hour. She struggled up to her feet and kissed the soft hair of Henry's head that curled at the edges. "I appreciate that, but it's not that way for me."

The teacher tilted her head to the side. "You loved him once and that sort of thing doesn't just disappear because you had a fight or someone said or did something wrong. Anger doesn't erase love, Emma. You must still have loved him when he died."

Closing her eyes, Emma tried to recall the last time she had felt anything that resembled the hopeful definition of love that her mother was spelling out for her. Part of her screamed to tell her mother the horrible way he had abandoned her, left her responsible for a crime she had not even been around to commit. Another part wanted to tell her mother of the nights when Henry had been colicky and she had wondered if she would ever know normal again. Her mother didn't know of those moments, didn't know of the abject fear she had harbored that Neal or his father would somehow get custody of her son. And she was not sure her mother would ever fully understand even if she did unleash a bitter diatribe of fear and anger because Mary Margaret had not known such things in her own life. Reminding her mother of that would come out cruel, no matter how Emma might have disguised the pain with soothing words. So she shrugged and said in a soft voice, "It's complicated."

Maybe her brother was trying to help her, she thought, as the toddler tip toed toward the stairs and was pulling himself up. Emma ran to fetch him, jostling him to make the child laugh rather than fight her interception. It didn't stop Mary Margaret though. "I remember when my mother passed away, my father and I stayed up for hours talking about when they met and their first date. I told him about the time she snuck me into…"

Emma's sigh must have been louder than she meant, as the woman in front of her stopped midsentence. "I appreciate that, but Henry doesn't have memories to share and mine aren't really good for a 4 year old." She knew that wasn't what was meant by sharing memories.

"I just meant that you could talk to me about him, if you want. I would love to know how you met. What was it about him that drew you to him? I am a sucker for romance."

Neal popping up in the backseat of her car that she had tried to steal sprang to mind. "I don't really remember," Emma said, placing her brother back on the floor and placing herself between him and the stairs up to the loft. "It was a long time ago."

Mary Margaret made a noise in her throat that indicated she didn't believe her daughter at all. To add to that sentiment, she looked from Henry to her a few times as if indicating that the child's age is not so much to equal a long time ago.

"We don't all end up with the first guy we get in bed with," Emma blurted out. "You and David seem to have made that work. I didn't. We weren't…we were young, stupid, and far too needy to actually realize that we weren't in love. So no, I didn't love him like you're thinking. Yes, I said the words to him back then, but it was love in a way that was way too immature and unhealthy."

"But Henry…"

"Is my son. Is Neal's son. I took responsibility for him. And I still do. I didn't give him up or abandon him because I wanted to do more with my life. I made things work." She flinched when Mary Margaret took a step backwards as if slapped. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"No, no, it's fine. You have a point. I didn't fight for you, Emma. And I should have done that. I should have fought harder, and maybe things would be different now. But I didn't and we or I have to deal with that." She grabbed a spoon out of the aged looking milk canister that held utensils. "Now you have a birthday tomorrow. Maybe we could do something to celebrate it."

***AAA***

Liam pushed the drink in front of her, sliding it across the smooth wood of the bar. His mouth turned down as she tipped back the shot glass and swallowed. "Bitter stuff, is it not?" he asked, removing the glass with a flick of his wrist.

"I told you I needed a memory potion," she muttered, dropping her head to her folded arms. "Something to wipe away what sort of bitch I am to say that to my own mother."

"Not the worst exchange I've been told about in this place," he soothed as he read the order from one of the establishment's two servers. "I have said worse."

"You?" Emma asked, peeking over her elbow with a bleary eye.

"Aye, me. I told my father that he was a sorry sodding arse and that his abandoning us was the best thing to happen, as it prevented us from having to face him and potentially grow up to be like him." He lifted his eyebrows. "Meant every word of it too. But I get the feeling that you didn't mean to use such words with your mum?"

He could barely make out the shaking of her head against her arms. "Got anything stronger?"

His chuckle was a lot like Killian's, she thought as he walked down to the other end of the bar and left her to sort through the memories of Mary Margaret's tight smile and assurances that there were no hard feelings. She wiped at her cheeks and felt the flushed skin warm to the touch. The stool was uncomfortable, her legs and bottom feeling the lack of padding on the hard wood surface as she was again interrupted by the buzz of her phone. Her father had texted twice, both times assuring her that her mother was not angry and that he was anxious to see her. She didn't respond. The other five had been from Killian, who had no idea of her state of mind. This newest one was from him too.

 **Killian: I did a bit of searching and found the museum opens at 10. If you want, meet me at my boat at 7? We'll have breakfast on the way. Tell Henry they have spotted pirates nearby.**

 **Emma: Got it. We'll be there at 7.**

 **Killian: Anything wrong? Besides the obvious? Your father called looking for you. Assumed I would know where you are?**

She tapped the button on the side of her phone and made the screen go to dark, peering doing the bar to see if Liam was still working or if he was possibly bringing her another drink. He smiled plaintively at her and approached with a glass of water. "While you're probably keeping me in business tonight, you need to drink some water at least. No need in having a hangover in the morning."

"Yeah, not when I'm going out on your brother's boat," she muttered, curling fingers around the glass. "I don't want to be sick."

His expression was not exactly surprised as he watched her for a moment. "He doesn't always take a lot of people out on her. In fact, he's not really that social usually."

She swallowed and lowered the glass. "I think it's more about Henry. He's sort of sailing obsessed at the moment and thinks that we're going to see pirates."

Liam didn't respond right away, turning toward the display of bottles that seem to be present in all bars and pubs. He never used them other than to run a cloth over them to dust them from time to time. Rotating one, he frowned and turned back to her. "You're going to need a lift home, aren't you?"

She leaned her head in her hand and took another swig of the water. "I'll walk. It's fine." He nodded in her direction and headed over to attend to another customer. Had she looked at him she would have seen him using his cell phone. It would have made sense when Killian arrived a few minutes later and sat beside her quietly for a moment. "You have a habit of this."

"What habit is that, love?" he asked. The tie that he had been wearing at work earlier, the one mean to make him look more professional, was loosened and the knot barely holding together. "I just thought you might need a ride."

"If I need rescuing, I prefer to do it myself."

Sucking in a breath, he tapped a finger against the bar to gather his brother's attention. There was a bill to attend to, but Liam just shook his head. "Duly noted, love. Something is clearly bothering you. And while it is a bit of a cliché to spend the evening talking to a bartender, I was just simply offering you an alternative."

"And what would that be?" she asked, jerking her head so fast to look at him that she felt sick to her stomach.

"Where's Henry?" he asked, trying another tactic.

"With them," she said, leaning her head back on her hand. "I'm going to walk back over and get him."

"Let me drive you, love," he offered again, jangling the keys. "Be safer and easier."

"I don't need your help," she said, a little louder this time. "I just want to go."

Looking slightly pained, he gestured to Liam. "My brother is going to close up in a minute. And while I'm sure that you would much rather sleep in the bloody park than accept my assistance, I'm going to do my brother a favor and drive his best customer to her parents who are undoubtedly worried about you. You can yell at me in the morning about how I wouldn't take no for an answer."

"I don't yell at you," she said as he helped her on with her own jacket, lifting her hair up off her neck. "I don't mean to if I do. That would be really mean of me since you kind of like me and all."

"I actually quite fancy you from time to time when you're not yelling at me.


End file.
